Entre Nous
by TourmalineTrue
Summary: Stewie Griffin is having a quarterlife crisis. Can a longtime friend help him through?
1. The Whole Story

**A/N: I know what you're thinking: **_another __**Family Guy story**_**? Well, what else would you have me do, when the most fully-formed idea I've had in a long time drops into my head and demands to be written? This little plot bunny crawled into my brain, and instead of giving it the bum's rush, I let it burrow on in there and sat down at the computer. I wrote this chapter faster than anything I've worked on in awhile. But don't worry: all my other in-progress stories will continue to be worked on as well!**

**As our story begins, Stewie is twenty-three years old and a self-declared 'ex-homosexual'. He shares an apartment with his girlfriend, Suzie Swanson- who's started angling for a ring. Stewie's just graduated from college, and like the vast majority of young people, he's confused about his direction in life. However, some of what's causing him such confusion isn't so typical of what his peers are grappling with. He keeps trying to tell himself that life is not shaping up to be miserable… **

**Chris works in the graphics department of a toy company that moved to town ten years ago. With his three kids, hot wife, and suburban home, his life closely mimics that of his father. **

**Meg is a single mom and lunch lady at her son's school. **

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

**Chapter One: The Whole Story**

As the airplane glides powerfully but serenely through the field of white, puffy clouds, there's an elongated one that's fatter in the middle and tapers on the sides to soft points that then flare out slightly, like a balloon tied at both ends that claims Brian's notice, reminding him of Stewie, and he sighs and smiles and shakes his head at his foolish mawkishness. He sips the Bloody Mary he ordered from the stewardess and leans his head back against his seat, turning his attention away from the window and its view of soppiness-inspiring cloud formations. He won't deny to himself, however, how impatient he is to get back to Quahog. After the awful debacle his stay in Seattle had turned into, he yearns for the refuge of the family circle. Of all his endeavors to strike out on his own and live more like his own man than as the family pet, this most recent had been the most spectacularly misjudged. Well, time to put that disaster behind him. He'd get his own place to live in Quahog, just like he had planned (only he hadn't expected for it to happen until the end of summer) and reclaim, not his old life exactly as it was, but his relationships with his loved ones. No, he can't wait to get home. Get home and be- yes, teased, mocked, chastised, probably, but also, at last- comforted. And the reason behind his vision in the clouds is that there's nobody better suited for the job than Stewart Gilligan Griffin.

He closes his eyes and sleeps, to be awakened only by the announcement over the speakers that the plane is getting ready to land.

**BREAK!**

As Brian walks into the airport terminal, he whips out his cellphone and turns it back on, checking his messages. There's a text from Stewie, the Griffin who it's been arranged will come pick him up. The text says he is running behind schedule, thanks to a job interview that got postponed by two hours, and is therefore going to be a little late getting to the airport. Brian sighs in resignation at the delay of being whisked to the family homestead, and wonders how late 'a little late' means. He meanders over to a grouping of chairs, depositing himself on a hard, metal seat beside a potted plant. He removes a paperback novel from his carry-on and begins to read.

He finds he can't really get into the book, however, and time drags so that it's difficult to estimate how much of it has passed, but perhaps fifteen minutes later, sensing somebody standing comparatively close to him, Brian looks up. A young woman stands about ten feet from him, on the other side of the potted plant, just visible through its leaves and branches. She moves forward a few steps and Brian gets a clearer view of her. She's young, probably in her early twenties, and exceptionally pretty. Shoulder-length hair with flippy ends curve around her face, and her fit, shapely body wears a cute little sundress. Slung over her arm is a bag from the airport gift store. She is gazing all around her fairly idly, scanning the vicinity with an attitude that suggests she is searching for something she is not particularly anxious to find.

Brian doesn't make passes at nearly so many women as he used to; too many years in the game have made him weary of it. Too many relationships have ended badly at this point, so he's pretty much given up all hope of meeting his ideal match. One night stands make him feel empty anymore (something he'll admit only to himself, naturally; he wouldn't want to sound like a chick), and when he has one just to satisfy his physical urges, she usually winds up being a nut job who thinks their night together signifies that they are in an exclusive, very serious relationship and is eager to introduce him to her doll collection.

But he decides he'll try his luck just this one time. Just to see what comes of it. Just to pass the time.

He stows his novel away and clears his throat. Plastering on his most suave smile, he directs a "Well, hello there" at her in a low, silky voice, getting her to glance his way.

"I don't mean to intrude, but you seem to be looking for something or someone. I'd be happy to help you in your search, before it starts to become a source of worry. Can't have a face as fetching as yours getting worry lines."

Her demeanor is as frosty as his is flirtatious.

"Brian."

He starts. "Do we know each other?"

"Not well. At least, not lately. But you used to watch me play in the sandbox with Stewie sometimes." His ears perk up at the mention of his longtime friend, and the young woman extends a hand with a fair bit of haughtiness, which Brian takes. "Suzie Swanson." Withdrawing her hand from Brian's paw after the barest moment of resting it there.

It takes a moment for the name to click, and when it does, he's amazed at the transformation time has wrought. "Suzie!" he exclaims, chuckling. "No shit!"

"Well, I go by 'Susan', now, but yes, it's really me." She smiles detachedly at him.

He won't ever call her Susan. She doesn't look like a Susan. Brian looks her up and down, even though he already gave her the once-over before. This second look confirms his first impression; she's got no luggage on her.

"So what're you doing here? Taking a trip? Or waiting for somebody?"

She gives her hair a vain little fluff and shifts her attention away from him, starts looking about the airport again, this time more keenly. "Uh, waiting for you, actually."

Brian's brow crinkles in confusion. "Me? Why would you be looking for-"

"Stewie called me and let me know about the time change for the interview, and that he'd be a little late coming to collect you. Since I was doing some shopping about a block away, I offered to walk over and keep you company," Suzie interrupts. "Then when Stewie gets here, the three of us are going to find a place to have a cup of coffee or a snack or something. Kill some time until Peter and Lois get back from Wyatt's soccer match and we can take you to their house."

Brian gives a nod, and Suzie looks down, dispassionately examining a manicured fingernail. "Took me awhile to find you, I had to use the restroom, and then I couldn't resist peaking into the gift shop. Sorry." She doesn't seem sorry in the least, but he doesn't bother reproaching her for her inconsiderateness in not seeking him out right away, not when he was having a more pleasant time before she happened upon him, anyway. He is starting to take sort of a dislike to her.

"No worries," Brian responds good-naturedly. He is about to ask just when she and Stewie rekindled their friendship and why that young man would suppose sending her ahead to hang out with Brian while he's waiting would be preferable to the dog than just waiting alone, when he spots a familiar face in the sea of people that crowd the airport. Stewie, dressed in a conservative suit and with his hair slicked back. Suzie soon sees him, too, and, looking much relieved, rushes toward him. Brian, also, starts to approach Stewie, but then something happens that stops him in his tracks. Everything seems to go in slow motion as Brian watches, incredulous, as Suzie reaches up, takes both Stewie's cheeks in her hands, and pulls him in for a kiss. On the lips. Which Stewie endures, even reciprocates, although he doesn't appear to be too into it. His eyes are open and searching the area beyond Suzie's shoulder. And as soon as he catches sight of Brian standing behind them, he breaks the liplock off. His eyes light up, and he hurries over to his old friend.

"Brian! I'm so glad to see you, man! You can't imagine how much." He stoops and hugs Brian. Hugs him in a particularly masculine way- quickly, upper bodies bumping, thumping him soundly (sort of painfully, actually) on the back. Not like the last time he'd hugged Brian, lingeringly, getting down full on his knees and pressing his pelvis flirtatiously against the dog. He pulls back with a smile, then stands.

"He tried to hit on me," Suzie informs him as soon as he does, casting an ostensibly playful, but in reality quite critical, glance at Brian.

Stewie looks at the dog, too, and clicks his tongue reprovingly. "Naughty, naughty," he pretends to scold, shaking a finger in Brian's direction. "Weaseling in on _my_ territory."

Brian can't even respond. He must be missing something here…

"Well," Stewie sighs, jerking his head toward the nearest exit, and hoisting Brian's carryon bag. "Let's blow this popsicle stand." He grabs Suzie's hand and tugs her toward the nearest exist, glancing back quickly to give Brian a nod indicating he should follow. "You coming?"

Brian's head is spinning. He's beginning to wonder if the plane he was on actually crashed, and his afterlife consists of some bizarre parallel universe where his flamboyantly gay friend Stewie gives macho hugs and is in a relationship with the girl next door.

"Yeah," he answers simply, and heads after the couple out of the terminal, toward the parking lot and Stewie's car. Stewie's and Suzie's hands are still linked, and they swing them as they walk.

**BREAK!**

"How was the interview, sweetie?" Suzie questions solicitously. She nibbles on a chocolate scone, then dabs the corner of her lips with a napkin.

Stewie snorts. "Alright, I suppose. I said all the correct things, gave the most brilliant answers to all of his questions, of course. If you're asking me if you think I'm a lock, though, I have no idea. I think he was too dense to recognize my genius and…" he cradles his coffee cup between two palms, and stares contemplatively into the distance, an annoyed expression developing on his features. "…I honestly don't even know if I _want _to get that job. The douche who would be my boss, for one thing…really speaks to his professionalism, don't you think, that he was late to an appointment he himself suggested the time for?" he asks sarcastically. "If it had been _me _who was late, I probably would've lost my opportunity to interview. Furthermore, I'm not sure I should be willing to accept such low-level jobs, my recent grad status be damned. If I took that internship with that law firm, for instance, I would be being groomed to be a partner, ascending the ranks in no time."

"Oh." Suzie looks about to contest, but bites down on that impulse. "Well…you know best, of course," she says slowly, in a doting, passive fifties-housewife-style voice that makes Brian want to puke a little, "but just because you and your potential boss didn't hit it off today doesn't mean he's a bad person. Or maybe you're not really all that interested in insurance. That's okay. There're plenty of other jobs out there. Didn't you decide that you'd rather get a real job and earn a decent wage, than earn nothing or next to nothing as an intern?"

"Yeah, that's what I decided, with a not-so-delicate push from you, ya golddigger," Stewie mutters quietly, but not quietly enough.

"What was that?" Suzie demands, eyes glinting at him sharply.

Stewie is more successful in hiding his derision this time, briefly turning his head away from Suzie, toward Brian, and rolling his eyes. He then faces forward again, reaches across the table and pats her hand. "Nothing, dear."

Throughout this interchange, Brian remains silent. He hasn't said a word since they first sat down in this coffee shop, when he'd finished up answering their routine inquiries about his trip. When they'd tried to ask him about his time in Seattle, and how the magazine was doing, he'd hastily changed the subject to what kind of coffee he planned on ordering.

All he wants to do is get back to Spooner Street. He'd been so eager to land in Quahog, see his family, and encounter the status quo, but _this_ is anything but. Stewie dating a woman? Well, but at least it's taking his mind off the mess he's just been through in Seattle.

Either Stewie is duping Suzie, or they're coconspirators in some scheme to make people think they're a couple, but why?

Soon they exit the coffee house and return to the car. Suzie climbs in front next to Stewie, the driver, but she doesn't buckle up, seeming to hesitate.

"You know what?" she says, swinging open the passenger door, "I think I'll run back in and buy some scones to have for tomorrow morning." She steps out of the car, and trots on up to the entrance of the coffee shop. Alone with Stewie, Brian finally has his opening to interrogate him about just what the hell is going on between the kid and Joe Swanson's daughter.

It's June, and Brian hasn't seen Stewie since December, when they were both back on Spooner Street for Christmas, but they've kept in touch. Phone calls, emails, letters, using webcams to chat, and Stewie's never once mentioned having a girlfriend. Deciding to 'go straight'. As a matter of fact, from the time Stewie first explicitly stated that he was gay, he's always acted very comfortable with his sexual orientation, and at that most recent family Christmas gathering, Stewie'd pranced around in some of his gayest apparel ever- a pair of black jeans so tight you could count the spare change in his pockets, and matching super-slim-fit turtleneck over which he'd worn a shimmery, bedazzled red leather vest- fielding phone calls from what seemed about forty boyfriends.

Watching Suzie's back disappear into the coffee shop, Brian seizes the opportunity to get to the bottom of this. "So…when did _this _happen?" he asks, drumming his fingers against his knee.

Stewie cranes his neck around the back of his seat to look at Brian. "What? You mean me and Suzie-Q?"

Inwardly, Brian gags a little at the saccharine, uninventive nickname. Outwardly, he snorts. "What else? What else have I seen since landing that's as preposterous as the vision of you canoodling with Suzie?"

"Well, I don't know, Bri, the airport's always full of all sorts of freakazoids headed into and out of town," Stewie retorts, his tone now holding a hint of an edge to it. "It could be just about anything. Anyway, what's so preposterous about me dating Susan?"

"You're gay," replies Brian plainly.

"Oh, Brian, that was just a phase," says Stewie dismissively, facing frontward again, turning from the sight of the dog's dropped jaw.

Before Brian can react verbally to the absurdity of Stewie's claim, there is a tap on the kid's window. Suzie grins and holds up a brown paper bag, because of course they've already forgotten what she went back in there for. Stewie only smiles back at her benignly and pushes the button on the steering wheel to unlock her door for her as she runs over to the passenger side. She hops in and buckles her seatbelt.

"Okay, I got 'em, fellas, we can go now." Then, seeming to pick up on the air of confusion and tension filling the vehicle, "What were you guys talking about?"

A beat of silence follows. Stewie shows no sign of intending to respond to Suzie's query, so Brian says, "Uh, about _you _actually. I was just asking Stewie how you two…got to be an item."

For the first time, Suzie shows genuine friendliness toward Brian in the animation of her response. "Ooh, and did he tell you the whole story? Well, I had a crush on Stewie _all through high school_, you see, and he acted just as though he barely knew I was alive, which was _so_ heartbreaking for me, because he was just the coolest boy I'd ever seen- so smart, and such a good dresser! Anyway, my friend's brother goes to Rhode Island College, just like Stewie did, and she and I decided to drive there and crash their New Year's Eve party. Stewie was there, and we spent the whole night talking- it was the first time we'd hung out since grade school, and it's so funny we didn't reconnect until that night, when we'd lived next door to each other all these years! And at midnight, what do you think happened? He kissed me! It was so romantic! And the rest is history. We were long-distance for awhile, then when Stewie graduated three weeks ago and came back to Quahog, I invited him to move in with me. So, altogether, we've been a couple for about five months now."

_Living together._ They were _living together_. If this is simply some experimental fling, it needn't be taken that far, and Brian doubts that Stewie would allow it to be. No, the kid must really be trying in earnest to live this lifestyle. Rather than trying on heterosexuality like a shoe to see if it fit, and then discarding it when it doesn't, Stewie has apparently determined to walk around in it no matter how badly it pinches his toes, how many blisters it gives him. Which it must, because there's no way in hell Stewie's straight. And the relationship had been formed so soon after Brian had last seen the kid! There had been no hints or indications, then, or up until today, that Stewie was in the least bit unhappy with his sexual identity. Why hadn't he talked to Brian about it? What had happened to make Stewie want to change who he was?

**BREAK!**

It's quite the warm welcome waiting for Brian on Spooner Street when he arrives there with his two companions. Peter and Lois had preceded them there by a half hour. They surround him with hugs, Brian's tail wagging furiously, and far from peppering him with Seattle-related questions, all they seem to want to talk about is Wyatt Griffin's championship soccer game, in which he scored the winning goal. Though Peter's effusions are less centered around his grandson's accomplishment than they are around the young mom who's the team's coach and walked around on the field in short-shorts and a sports bra ("teen pregnancy has one plus: hotter MILF's all the time. Although I hear she also has to strip part-time to make end's meet"); he leaves it to Lois to gush, "Oh, Peter and I are just so proud of our little grandson, Brian!"

"Hey, the doggie's back!" chirps a small voice from behind him.

Brian turns around to face the source of the voice, a little boy wearing a soccer uniform, bouncing the coordinating black and white ball skillfully up and down on his knee, and smiles.

"Well, hiya there, little guy!"

Meg, who along with her six-year-old son, Wyatt, lives in her parents' garage (and pays them rent for the privilege), enters the room.

"Wyatt, how many times do I have to tell you, not in the house!"

She reaches out and snatches the ball away from him in mid-bounce, ignoring the child's whining protest. She turns to Brian.

"Brian, it's good to see you. I can't wait to hear all about your time in- _ow!_" her greeting to Brian is cut short by a yelp of pain when Wyatt kicks her in the shinto protest the confiscation of his soccer ball. Which she then drops in favor of bending to clutch at the site of the injury. Wyatt picks it up and grasps it to his chest. "No! Stupid Mommy! My ball!"

"Ha!" says Peter, ruffling his grandson's hair approvingly. "Nice one, Wyatt."

Meg scowls and addresses Lois. "Mom, do you think it would be possible for you and Dad to give me a small loan? See, there's this problem with my car-"

"I gotta get back to the kitchen," Lois declares, ducking the question, turning and scuttling from the room, grabbing Wyatt by the hand as she does and pulling him along with her. On her way out, she calls back to the living room, "I've got a special dinner started to celebrate Brian's return home. Stewie, Susan- are you planning to stay and eat? We've got plenty enough to go around."

"That's kind of you to offer, Mrs. Griffin," out of necessity, Suzie declines Lois's offer in a shout, but her tone is still polite and sweet as can be. The little suck up. "But, um, your son and I were planning on a nice, quiet, _private_ night in our apartment." She latches onto Stewie's arm and simpers up at him hopefully.

Stewie returns her stare with a slight frown. "The night is young, Susan," he observes, transferring his gaze to his watch. "We've got all the rest of the evening to sit around at home like two bumps on a log. Might as well stay for dinner. And then maybe afterward we can join Father and Brian on the trip I'm sure they're fixing on taking to the Clam."

"Oh, Jesus..._Stewie_," Peter groans, smacking himself on the forehead in displeasure, "you know the idea when we go to the Clam is to get away from the dames, not bring them along."

Suzie is visibly disappointed by her boyfriend's veto of her proposed plan for a lovers' night in. Brian has to chuckle to himself.

It's never a good thing when your boyfriend chooses another woman over you.

Especially when that woman is as ill-liked by him as Lois is by Stewie.

Their relationship has changed hardly at all throughout the years. Lois still blindly assumes that it is a positive one, oblivious to the real acrimony that lies behind her son's sneers and contemptuous remarks. While he no longer makes attempts on her life, Stewie has never had a positive opinion of his mother, has never come close to bonding with her.

Brian wonders how much Stewie confides in Suzie about his relationships with his family members (wonders fleetingly what the kid has told his girlfriend about the family dog). To understand Stewie within the context of the family is to come a long way toward understanding Stewie as a whole. He wonders if Suzie knows Stewie 'used' to be gay. Or if she at least suspects that something is a bit…_off_ about her boyfriend. He wonders if she knows Stewie very well at all. Certainly she can't know him as well as he, Brian, does.

_To be continued…_

**Feedback is certainly very welcome and greatly appreciated. :)**


	2. Dinner and Drinks

**A big thanks as always for the reviews and interest expressed in this story so far! :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

**Chapter Two: Dinner and Drinks**

"We were surprised when we heard you were coming back already," says Lois to Brian, while she is dishing out a helping of au gratin potatoes for herself before passing the big communal bowl on to Stewie. "You must have gotten matters settled with the magazine earlier than you expected, huh?"

Brian grits his teeth and forces a smile. "Something like that." He looks up and down the table for a diversion, something to mention that will sidetrack this current route of conversation. "H-hey, Lois, I can't help but notice Chris isn't here."

"He, Gina, and their children are out of town," Lois informs him. "The factory sent him to Orlando for a toy convention, and they were going to take the kids to Disney World, isn't that nice?" Her eyes narrow, pupils jumping quickly from Meg down near the opposite end of the table, back to Brian. "I told them they ought to invite Wyatt along," she says in a faultfinding kind of voice. "Every child should get to see Disney World, after all, and with Meg's financial situation being what it is, it's unlikely _she'll_ ever take him, so-"

"You don't know that!" Meg cries, overhearing her mother's remark. "And what's this crap about every child deserving to go to Disney World? _I_ never got to go!"

Lois sends her daughter a highly dubious look. "Nonsense," she scoffs. "We went when you were nine."

"Yeah, you and Dad and Chris went!" Meg cries angrily. "You deliberately picked the week I had chicken pox to go so you could leave me with Grandma and Grandpa! The only one who paid attention to me at their house was one of the maids, whose idea of entertaining me was making me sew packets of coke into hundreds of plush Taco Bell chihuahuas!"

"Anyway," Lois says, completely disregarding Meg's tale of woe, "Chris and Gina were more than willing to take Wyatt with them, but Meg, thinking of her child before herself like always, was afraid he'd be homesick and so wouldn't let him go. I'm sure it had _nothing_ to do with the fact _she'd_ be lonely without him-"

Meg abruptly shoots out of her chair, swelled with anger, and throws her napkin down petulantly onto her plate. "That's it! I'm done with dinner!"

Peter smacks the table in a show of endorsing that idea. "Finally, she leaves the dinner table before dessert. I'm sure your thighs will thank you."

The pique in Meg's face increases. "I hate you all!" she screams. She puts a hand on her son's shoulder and tries to speak to him gently. "Come on, honey, we're going back to our place."

Looking up at her, Wyatt wear an uncooperative expression, lower lip pushed out into a pout. He throws off his mother's hand and curls his fingers around the underside of the table, clearly determined not to go anywhere. "Nooooo! I'm not done with my macaroni, and I want dessert!"

Brian grips the back of the boy's chair and leans in close to his ear. "I think you'd better do what your mom says. I'm sure your Grandma will set a slice of cake aside for you, and bring it out to you later," he calmly advises Wyatt, wanting to spare a loud, unruly scene involving an incensed Meg dragging her bawling son kicking and screaming from the house. "And if you're a good kid and go with your mom right now, I'll bring you back a bottle cap off an imported beer from the Clam."

Wyatt is an avid collector of bottle caps, and it's the allure of getting one from a foreign land that no doubt seals the deal and makes him compliant to his mother's wishes, stop stubbornly clutching the table and leave the dining room, and then the house with her.

"I get jealous when you do that," says Stewie softly. Surprised, Brian glances across and meets his eyes.

"When you talk to Wyatt like that," the young man clarifies, shifting his gaze away from Brian's, looking a little uncomfortable and as if he wishes he hadn't spoken. "Like he's your special little buddy. It makes me think of how you were with me when I was young and I- I don't like seeing you getting all palsy-walsy with another kid."

"What a pitiful thing to be jealous about," Brian jeers, mock-scornful. "You should be humiliated to even fess up to it, you possessive little girl. I like children, and Wyatt's a cool kid, and one of my honorary nephews, but I spend hardly any time with him at all. And besides, he's just a typical kid, whereas you were…" he chuckles, "something else. His and my relationship will never come close to duplicating ours."

Stewie smiles, satisfied, but to his right, Susan is looking at both her boyfriend and the dog with an expression that mystifies Brian: it's like she's…apprehensive or something.

Brian attempts to engage her in friendly conversation. Hopefully Stewie won't be conducting this ruse for much longer, but as long as he is, it couldn't hurt to be on good terms with the girl.

"So, Suzie," he says sociably, "What do you do for a living?"

"Susan," she corrects him unsmilingly. "Well, I'm actually finishing up a physical therapy assistant program at Quahog Community College, and I work part-time as a promoter for local wrestling matches."

"Sometimes she gets to dress up like a hooker and walk around the ring holding up cards that announce what round it is," her boyfriend discloses, feigning pride in this fact.

Suzie gawks at him, indignant. "Stewie!"

"Hmm?" Stewie gnaws on his leg of baked chicken. "What?"

Lois gets up, departs the dining room and goes into the kitchen. When she returns she brings with her a large cake (with one piece missing and set aside for Wyatt), which the remaining diners devour enthusiastically. Of course it's Peter who's mainly responsible for its rapid vanishing act, having approximately two slices of cake for everybody else's one. When he finishes, he pushes his chair back from the table and rubs his even-more-massively-bloated-than-usual stomach. "I think it's time for the Clam."

**BREAK!**

Once you get a few drinks in her, Suzie has an actually fairly tolerable personality.

She's loose, relaxed, and sunny after a handful of screwdrivers, smiling at everybody, and she's even stopped looking at Brian as though he's something she found under her shoe. Or crapped something she found under her shoe, but Brian obviously hasn't been crapping in Quahog lawns for months. So…it wasn't him. To Peter she's unfailingly polite, which is more than he deserves, given that he's made it more than obvious how little he wants her at the Clam with them (probably feeling her presence inhibits things like farting and burping to his heart's content and making sexist jokes). However, she doesn't seem to be as unctuous with him as she is with Lois. Which reminds Brian: what the hell must the rest of the family think that the unmistakably bent Stewie is in a relationship with a female? Back at the house, they'd all acted as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Brian makes a mental note to talk to Lois about it tomorrow.

Brian starts out drinking a high-priced German lager, twisting the top off and saving it in his pocket for Wyatt as promised. He needs to be careful with his money, but he'd intended on splurging on a premium beverage, anyway, just to toast his return home with. After this beer, however, he'll make the next one a domestic.

Stewie's drinking a Pawtuckett Light. He'd cast his blazer and tie aside back in his car, so now he's left donning a crisp button-up and his dress pants. His hair has also become partially un-gelled, and he's looking a lot more at ease than he did a half hour ago, and also a lot more like himself (at least 'himself' as Brian last saw him, when he was big into a look he called 'roughed-up glam chic'. But it seems _much_ has changed since then).

Eventually, even a sauced-up Suzie apparently does start to find either or both Peter and Brian's company intolerable and ditches their table to commandeer the karaoke machine, running over to flip eagerly through the book of song choices.

"Hey, Peter!" a voice calls out from the front of the Clam, and Peter, Brian, and Stewie all look at the door. It's Quagmire, who's just come sauntering into the bar, Joe rolling along beside him.

"Oh, heya, guys!" Peter responds cheerily.

Quagmire's eyes take in Suzie and stayed glued to her. "Well, _hello, gorgeous_," he drawls, leering creepily at her, who looks quite justifiably disturbed and uses the karaoke songbook to cover the modest amount of cleavage her the neckline of her sundress exposes.

Stewie levels a hard glare at Quagmire. "_Mine_," he states through bared teeth.

Quagmire jumps and looks frightened. "Wh-who? Her…or, or me?" He points frantically back and forth between himself and Suzie.

Stewie's voice drips scorn. "Her."

"Watch it, Quagmire," says Joe forbiddingly, and as his voice is by default already a fairly intimidating force, he sounds very threatening. "That's my daughter, you skeeze. I've told you before and I'll tell you again-you ever touch her, I'll shove an assault rifle where the sun don't shine, and the whole thing'll end with a blast even _you're_ not kinky enough to enjoy. Cause you'll be dead." He waves to Suzie. "Hi, princess!"

"Dad, ugh, _jeez_, you're not gonna come sit with us are, you? Get out of here!" Suzie snipes, flushing, before going back to her song selection. Brian snickers contemptuously. There comes a time, when, while you don't necessarily want to party with your parents, you don't freak out and become mortally embarrassed when you run into them out. Suzie evidently isn't there yet.

"Yeah, we're gonna go," says Joe. He turns to Peter. "We called your house looking for you, and Lois said you were here. I've got some awesome news to share! You know that old lady I saved from being mugged last week? Well, her husband owns this power wheelchair business and to thank me, she wanted to give me one for free."

The Griffin men all look, and Joe is, in fact, sitting in a power wheelchair.

"But, Joe," Peter begins, "You like the workout a regular wheelchair gives your arms. I thought you said you'd sooner die than ride around in a power chair like one of the lazier paraplegics."

"And I would," the cop agrees, "if I had to ride around in it for everyday use. But I'm just gonna use this one for goofing off on! If you had let me finish, you'd have heard me say that this lady is a little, um, forgetful, and she ordered me my chair _three times_. I've got the other two out in my police van."

"We're gonna go take them down to the skate park and ride them on the halfpipe!" Quagmire excitedly chimes in.

Peter pronounces this plan "Ohoho, _sweeet_!" Then, suddenly his giddiness lessens. He glances toward Brian and appears unsure. "W-well, can Brian come, too? Otherwise I'll have to stay here. It's his first night back and-"

"It's okay, Peter," Brian intervenes, smiling to encourage Peter to just go ahead and join Joe and Quagmire. He knows that even with Quagmire's loathing of him and a shortage of chairs, there's nothing to stop him making up one of the gang in this asinine stunt, if he wanted to. However, "Breaking my neck wasn't really an activity I had in mind for my first night back in town, but you can still go. I'm fine sitting here, having another beer, and continuing catching up with Stewie. You and I will hang tomorrow."

Predictably, Quagmire looks pleased when the dog begs off. He hates Brian even more nowadays since he's arthritic and horribly liver-spotted and the dog hasn't aged a day in sixteen years.

"Well, if you're sure, buddy…" says Peter.

Brian nods, and Peter grins in appreciation. "Thanks, pal, I'll see ya at home!"

Peter and the guys take off, and right after the door closes behind them, the music cues up, and Suzie is warbling an annoying, marginal pop song.

"So tell me all about Seattle and your entrepreneurial effort of the literary kind," Stewie requests.

Without meaning to, Brian groans.

"That bad, huh?"

Brian thinks he detects a smirk in Stewie's words, and asks him sharply, "Why do you assume it was bad? God, would it kill you to have a little faith in me?"

"Why would I assume that it was bad? Oh, gee, I don't know, maybe because just now, when I asked how things went in Seattle, you _groaned_?" Stewie answers back snidely. "A noise generally used to express unhappiness? Pardon me for jumping to conclusions."

Brian nearly groans again, thinking that great, now they're either going to have a fight or he'll be forced to talk all about Seattle. He swallows a large gulp of beer, takes a second to work a crick in his neck, and then divulges, "No, Stewie, it wasn't good, but I want tonight to be. I just want to relax and have fun my first night back in town, I don't want to have to think about what happened in Seattle."

Stewie's eyes roam his face searchingly, with concern. Brian knows he's considering pressing the issue, but then, thankfully, the kid's expression goes casual and he clinks his glass against Brian's. "Alright," he smiles, adapting a cheerful tone. "You got it, dude."

"Cheers," says Brian, and chugs his beer.

"But you could have argued that groaning isn't automatically indicative of a negative feeling," the kid mentions after a moment. "After all, sometimes groans are used to express sexual pleasure. So maybe what happened in Seattle was that _good_." Doing a vaudevillian eyebrow waggle.

Brian puts down his empty glass and laughs, buzz growing, suddenly feeling good. He signals to Horace for another drink and slumps down in his seat, leaning against Stewie's side. Stewie's warm, lean side, solid and reassuring. When Brian's this close to the young man, he can smell Stewie's cologne. It's a good sort of soapy, subtle, clean smell, mingling with the kid's natural scent that's so well-known to the dog that it adds exponentially to the reassuring feeling of home he's been craving.

**BREAK!**

"Thanks for driving me back to Spooner Street, Stewie," Brian murmurs, sliding like a somewhat uncoordinated eel into the front passenger seat of Stewie's car. He's drunk, but not in nearly as bad a shape as Suzie. He observes Stewie, still outside the car, holding onto her shoulders to stabilize her as he steers her toward the car. He gets her situated in the back, helping her to lie down and even folding his own jacket and placing it under her head as an improvisational pillow. Then he comes around to the front, gets behind the wheel, and a moment later they're on the road.

"No. I'm taking you to my place. It's closer."

Brian protests. "No, no, no, I wanna- I wanna go home. Why would you take me to your apartment? What's it matter which place is closer?"

"I don't wanna drive any farther then I absolutely have to," says Stewie gravely. "Not since I've been consuming alcohol."

"You've got barely any in you! Whadju have, like two and a half light beers?" God, Stewie sounds so puritanical…

"I've got a buzz, okay, and haven't you heard buzzed driving is drunk driving?" he asks defensively. "Besides, we've got a guestroom, and I know for a fact Lois and Peter don't have your old room ready for you yet. Would you rather sleep in a nice, comfy bed or ride the couch?"

"Okay," sighs Brian, conceding without further dispute. Jetlag, the warm summer night, and one too many beers have made him rather sleepy. "You win, Stewie. At this point, all I want is a bed. Closer works."

"I didn't say he could spend the night!" comes Suzie's whiny, slurred objection suddenly from the backseat.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, why _can't_ he?" Stewie snaps, giving her a harsh look in the rearview mirror. "You always act like it's more your place than mine. Way to make me feel at home."

"I'm sorry!" Seemingly out of nowhere she is on the brink of tears. "Baby, baby, I'm sorry, I didn't know that I do that!" Her voice grows higher-pitched, thinner, more upset. They'll have a crying jag on their hands in about five seconds. "You need- you need to tell me these things if they really bother you. Communication- "

"That's alright, Susan, I forgive you."

"Don't ever leave me! I really _d-do," _she gives a hiccup "want what's beast- what's breast- what's," her speech is interrupted again by another hiccup, "_best_ for you, I just-" and with that she breaks down and begins to softly cry.

"Shh!" Stewie urges. "Nothing's the matter, you're just drunk!" His voice is gentle, but alarmed and annoyed as well.

She continues to weep quietly, though, and Stewie's feeble attempts to try and comfort her have no effect. After a few more half-heartedly-uttered pacifying words, he turns on the radio and scans around until he chances upon something that brings a look of hope into his eyes. One that is not misplaced, it turns out; he's found something that silences her.

"Hey, look, Suzy-Q: Britney!"

Susie immediately emits a favorable hum and settles into presumably-content silence.

**BREAK!**

The first thing Stewie does once inside his and Suzie's apartment is head into the kitchen, pour some leftover coffee, heat it in the microwave, and down it with an aspirin. Brian watches him from the doorway while Suzie is sitting cross-legged on the welcome mat in the apartment's vestibule, humming 'Slave for You' to herself. Brian looks briefly back at her and notices her pose reveals her panties. They're dark-colored and lacy. Yep, she was planning on some sexy times tonight.

Stewie walks up to Brian, takes hold of his arm, and guides him through the living room and to a closed door at the end of a short hallway. The young man opens it for the dog and ushers him inside. Brian lumbers toward the bed while Stewie says something about pleasant dreams before stepping from the room and letting the door click softly shut behind him.

Brian's head hits the pillow and he's asleep.

**BREAK!**

Brian wakes up to the cry of "Fuck me!"

He sits partway up with a grumble, taking his time in lifting reluctant eyelids completely, confused about where he is and what's going on. All he knows is the lustfully-shouted demand that just roused him didn't come from the room he's lying in: it was too far off. Soon enough, he recalls that he's back in Quahog, he's in Stewie's guestroom. The clock on the bedside table reads 1:30. He didn't notice what time it was when they left the bar, but he estimates he's been napping for around a couple hours. Not enough, but it helped. He's slightly less tired, and his head's mostly clear. Though now he's got other concerns. As that was obviously Suzie crying out before, he's fearful about becoming an unwilling eavesdropper to a Stewie Griffin/Suzie Swanson sex romp.

Smoothing down the fur that has become mussed atop his head during sleep, he eases himself off the bed and wanders out into the hall. He stops short of the front room when he hears noise coming from it. He cautiously peeks around the doorframe and in on the scene.

Unbelievably, Suzie is still drinking. Stewie is sitting on the sofa, patently irritated and doing his utmost to ignore her, his head turned off to the side, eyes staring fixedly at the T.V. screen while his totally trashed girlfriend stands between his legs, a bottle of tequila in one hand, rolling her hips toward him in a motion like crazed, choppy, oceanic waves.

"Fuck me!" she screams out again. "G-god, I want you…so _fucking_ much right now! T-touch me anywhere, everywhere, put your hands- put your hands on me, rip my clothes off, fuck me, fuck me!"

Stewie finally looks at her, exceedingly weary, but surprisingly tender. "Another night," he assures her, and he brushes a lock of hair out of her face and tucks it behind an ear.

Suzie throws back her head and whines, "But I _neeeeeed_ it!" Then loudly belches.

Stewie recoils in disgust. "Sounds like you need an antacid."

"_Stewie_…" she coos, reaching for his fly. He bats her hand away. She lets her fingers wander on up to one of the straps of her dress and start to lower it. He disciplines the errant hand with a swat once more.

He sneers. "I swear, Susan, you're a disgrace." He stands quickly, and her being practically in his lap, and with her stability shot on account of being drunk, the sudden motion knocks her off-balance. She falls to the floor, and he makes no move to help her up. She gives a little whine, flat on her back, staring up at him with dumb, hazy eyes. She tries, weakly, to raise herself onto her elbow, but the exertion proves too much for her in her intoxicated debility and she flops limply down again. She passes out right there on the floor while Stewie bursts out the apartment door, letting it bang shut behind him. Brian at last emerges from his vantage point around the corner. He walks purposefully though the living room, past Suzie's inert form, and goes out the door after Stewie.

_To be continued…_


	3. Ring Girl

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

**Chapter Three: Ring Girl**

Brian doesn't make it to the elevator before he gets more than a glimpse of Stewie inside of it. Then the doors close and the young man is conveyed to another floor, most likely the ground. Espying a stairwell located in the corner to the right of the elevator, the dog heads hurriedly for it, dashing down to the street-level story.

Upon bursting through the main door of the building, he sees that Stewie is the better part of midway down the block and runs to catch up with him. Luckily, he is given enough time to do so when the sign for the crosswalk flashes a forbidding hand and compels Stewie to stop and wait for the light to change back, even though there are no cars coming. Brian doesn't know if Stewie's just being hyper-cautious for safety's sake, or if he's yielding to some random inner dictate to stringently follow the rules, even though jaywalking's not a crime. He remembers when the kid really _was _a kid, and Stewie would willingly perform serious, oftentimes ultra-violent illegalities, but he wouldn't cross a street unless the correct signal was displayed.

'_Those things exist for a reason, Brian.'_

Upon reaching him, Brian seizes the young man's wrist.

Stewie's always had lightening-fast reflexes; a second after Brian's paw clamps down on him, he manages to free himself with a deft flick of the wrist, and then, pivoting slickly on one foot, whirls around, and his fist flies out to strike at whoever had taken hold of him. Brian instinctively moves to dodge the punch, although he needn't have bothered, as Stewie punches too high, evidently expecting his accoster to be taller- human, probably. He steps aside in haste none too gracefully, and barely avoids twisting his ankle. He stumbles into the gutter and looks up at Stewie, who blinks at him in surprise.

"Oh, it's you. You shouldn'tve grabbed me like that." The young man reaches out and pulls Brian back onto the sidewalk.

"Where're you going?" the dog asks.

For a split second, Stewie's face looks guilty. "Nowhere," he answers evasively, lacing his fingers together behind his back and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, taking only a moment to school his expression casual. "Just needed to get some air after dealing with my drunk-as-a-skunk girlfriend who won't take no for an answer throwing her sloppy self all over me."

Brian casts wary glances the length of the street behind and before them and into a nearby dark alleyway. "This isn't safe. Nothing good happens at this hour; all the bars are about to close and there're all kinds of shady characters roaming the streets. Surely you weren't just going to go walking around?"

Stewie snorts. "There are places that stay open longer," he confides positively, "if you know where to go."

An idea suddenly strikes Brian and without thinking of the possible consequences, that this isn't really how he wanted to attack this subject, and whether he's wrong or right, it'll probably start an argument he's not really up for, he blurts out, "Are you talking about a gay bar? Oh my god, were you going to go to a gay bar and look for a man to cheat on Suzie with?"

His companion's face tightens and he glares at the dog. "_No,_ of course not, Brian. I already told you," he says, his voice chilly. "I don't _do _that anymore."

The sign changes to 'walk', and Stewie starts to cross the street. Brian, getting a firm grasp on the kid's trouser leg, holds him back. His friend turns to him with an irritated expression, but Brian is adamant.

"I'm not going to let you go traipsing about the streets at two o'clock in the damn morning. If you have to go somewhere, go get your car, we'll drive there."

Stewie gives him a mutinous look and huffs loudly, but, after a beat, dips his head in grudging submission. They both double back to the apartment building, circle around to the parking lot, and about five minutes later, Stewie's in the driver's seat of the used compact Brian knows Peter and Lois bought their youngest as a graduation gift.

Stewie has a Master's degree in Criminal Justice. Initially, when Brian learned what the kid had chosen to be his major, he'd been a tad perplexed by the decision. True, Stewie did have a very diverse range of interests, and a number of those he was equally skilled at - and that meant _very_. But if Brian had had to wager a guess, he would've said that he was expecting his young friend to pick either a scientific discipline, such as a branch of physics or chemistry, or perhaps business or drama. After Stewie had explained, however, how he himself was a (mostly) reformed bad guy, and therefore knew how the criminal mind worked, assuring his success in the criminal justice field, Brian had laughed and acknowledged that yes, that made sense. The most recent life choices of his friend, however, made little to none. For one, thinking back on the job Stewie'd been mulling and actually interviewed for, the dog was quite stumped.

"So…you applied for a job to be an insurance agent, huh?"

"Ye-eah," Stewie responds in a rather lackadaisical manner. "It was Susan's idea. She's eager for some help paying the rent, and besides that she'd like to see me more…ah, _settled_."

"I had a feeling it was her influence," says Brian, almost victoriously. "But listen, if you get that job, I don't think you should take it: I think you'd be bored to death doing something like that." He pauses. "But to tell you the truth, I always _did_ wonder what you were going to do with that degree." The dog smirks. "I mean, you could never be a warden or anything, unless they let you bring in your ray gun. You're close to six feet, right, but you probably weigh 160 soaking wet."

Stewie apparently fails to find this funny, making a face at Brian. He abruptly reaches over to adjust the gear shift, and jams his foot down harder on the gas. The car accelerates and Brian sends his companion a warning look.

"Stewie, don't speed."

The kid scoffs and frowns. "Don't tell me what to do. If I was going to speed, now would be an optimal time to do it, when there are so few other vehicles on the road. In any event, though, you can't take this thing over forty. Piece of crap."

Stewie arrives at the park, then starts to drive through it.

At the far end of Quahog Park is a medium-sized pond. Stewie brings his vehicle to a veritable crawl as he drives around it, and then parks when he nears the far end of it.

Then, they just sit.

Brian looks around and wonders why he never brought a date here. Even though the body of water before them is filthy and polluted, that's easy enough to overlook in the dark. The light of the moon and stars shimmering down upon it make the thin layer of scum it's topped with look gossamer and almost pretty, and the pond's relatively secluded location make it more romantic than the typical, well-known and designated make out spots in town. Also, it has the added advantage of not being atop a cliff, which has never seemed an advisable location for a vehicle that's rockin' to the rhythm of love.

"Stewie," says Brian. He hears himself speak before he's made a conscious decision to start talking. "This, uh, this thing with you and Suzie. I- I'm afraid I just don't understand it. Like, at all. What the hell do you mean, being gay was just a phase, you-"

"Perhaps I misspoke," Stewie interjects swiftly. "_Being _gay wasn't a phase, but living that lifestyle was." The almost defiant, just a touch shy of combative way he looks at Brian clearly convey that he expects the dog to react unfavorably to this statement. He _expects _incredulity and a lecture on the importance of being oneself from gay rights lover Brian. Unfortunately, the dog cannot oblige. While he certainly has the desire to express his dismay at Stewie's words, he finds himself nearly speechless. His mind is full of so many thoughts that he doesn't have an inkling where to start.

At last he settles on one (though it is by no means the most burning) and inquires carefully, "And what does the family think of all this?"

"I don't suppose they think much of anything about it," replies Stewie with seeming indifference. "They let me live my own life. They've never concerned themselves much about anything I do, as you well know. And…as it so happens, I never did trouble _myself_ about making any big announcement to them- I simply didn't think they'd be interested."

"You mean to say…you didn't ever tell them you were gay?" It's a shocker, because he'd sure as hell told Brian. The canine can remember it almost like it was yesterday. Of course, there were a _multitude _of other important facets of Stewie's life that the kid had kept from the rest of the family. "But still- how could they not know?"

"Oh, they knew- or they strongly suspected, anyway. They never actually had any hard-core proof- catching me literally with my trousers down with another male, or any such situation…but," he frowns as he recalls, "you better believe they made their little remarks. You must have heard some of them. And I think they _were_ fairly flummoxed when I first started dating Susan. However, I guess I've been with her long enough now that they've stopped questioning it. They figure if this is what I want…they're not going to get involved."

Brian stares at him. "Why _is _it what you want, though?" he asks, his desperation to understand coming through in his voice. "You can't just…deny who you are!"

"Who's to say that's what I'm doing? Boy, I-I'll tell ya, some people never change," Stewie mutters darkly. "You're still a meddlesome know-it-all, Brian. Maybe I'm genuinely attracted to Susan. Maybe she's what they call my 'homosexual exception'. You know _nothing_ about my girlfriend's and my relationship, Brian. Nothing."

Stewie has a point, Brian supposes. He can't _absolutely_ rule out the possibility of Stewie being attracted to her, especially as the young man _has _shown some inclination of that variety toward at least a few girls- and, actually, Suzie specifically, as far as that went- in the past. But Brian'd assumed that Stewie had finally cleared up all his issues about sexual orientation when the kid had come out to him as gay. Of course, Brian's befuddlement over the feasibility of being attracted to someone who's not the gender you typically go for is most likely due to the fact that he himself is so fully what he is- straight as an arrow all the way.

And yet…Stewie with Suzie…something about their relationship just seems so _forced_. He's only had the opportunity to observe them as a couple for half a day, but he's known Stewie since the kid was born, and from the very moment Brian became aware of this relationship, all he's wanted to do is rescue him from it.

Still, all he says, with a troubled brow, is, "Well…are you genuinely attracted to her?"

"Of course I am," Stewie snaps harshly. "How could I not be? Have you seen her? She's stunning." His mouth forms a displeased little moue as he goes sullen and glares into middle space. "A-and you know what, Brian? If you get to pry into my personal life, I think it's only fair that I get to interrogate _you_ about just whatever the hell went on in Seattle."

"Okay," Brian says quickly, backing down with alacrity at the threat. "I'll shut up." _For now, anyway, _he adds silently to himself.

"Good," grunts Stewie, giving a curt nod of approval. The moonlight is bright coming through the windshield, and the beams that wash directly on his face reveal that he looks exhausted, bags cropping up under those immense eyes of his. He yawns, and yawns being contagious, Brian does, too, folding his arms behind his head and allowing himself to zone out.

Somehow, time slips by, and before Brian knows it, his eyelids are becoming increasingly hard to hold up, his head correspondingly heavy, and his body in general all-over tired. It isn't long until he's giving in to temptation, curling up on his seat and shutting his eyes, telling himself he's only resting them, but in reality knowing that that rest will last hours long.

Falling asleep in the car in the middle of the park probably isn't the most prudent thing to do; for the very thugs Brian had insisted they get off the street to avoid, the park at this hour can be a popular spot to congregate. Anything could happen to Stewie and himself while slumbering and defenseless in the car. But all these considerations are part of a bleary, belated realization that comes to Brian when he's already half-asleep. As such they are easily dismissed and disregarded.

Stewie lies down and curl against him, around him, the young man's arm coming to wrap about the dog's waist. It's a reversal of the positions they occasionally adopted when falling asleep together so long ago in the past- not since Stewie came out of his toddler years have they slept beside each other, holding onto each other. Out of necessity of size, Stewie is the big spoon now.

It's slightly weird, but the cuddling adds something to the snugness so that Brian finds that he doesn't really care.

**BREAK!**

Stewie has an erection.

It's among the first things to register in Brian's mind when it reaches the conscious state in the morning. He mumbles groggily and blinks open reluctant, sleep-encrusted eyes. _Bright light. It's morning. Fell asleep in the car. Back's kinda stiff. _And then, as he shifts a bit, _And that's not the only thing, _feeling a prodding hardness pressed against the back of his thigh. _Stewie has an erection. _

Brian's a little embarrassed for the both of them- a somewhat illogical reaction, seeing as it most likely has nothing to do with him. Stewie being twenty-three, he probably wakes up with wood most mornings. Hell, for all Brian knows, Stewie is fantasizing about Suzie (not probable, but after all, possible).

He's hesitant to wake Stewie up, though. Once the kid is awake, and alerted to the condition he's in, one of a few things will happen, all which will just make the situation that much more uncomfortable. Either he'll first have to watch Stewie get embarrassed, then pretend not to watch the kid sit there and endeavor to will it away, or else Stewie'll crack some stupid, inappropriate joke about Brian having to wait while he 'takes care of it' or maybe about getting Brian to do that for him.

Stewie utters a soft murmur and rolls his hips forward as though seeking friction and Brian, feeling himself blush hard, quickly but gingerly removes Stewie's embracing arm, moves away from the young man and climbs out of the car.

He walks the short distance to the water's edge and stands looking out over the pond. He picks up some stones from the bank and skims them over the water's grimy surface. An unknown amount of time passes while he lets his mind wander, making vague, rambling plans for his immediate future.

"Good morning."

Lost in his reverie, Brian starts at the sound of his friend's voice. He turns and involuntarily his eyes go to Stewie's crotch. There's no bulge there that Brian can see. Then, suddenly, he realizes what he's doing and with a rush of embarrassment rapidly transfers his gaze to Stewie's face, but judging by the impassive look he finds there, the furtive glance at the kid's nether regions has apparently gone unnoticed. "Well, I'd better drive you home."

"Actually, Stewie," says Brian, "All you need is to drive yourself home. I can walk from as far as your apartment. I could use the exercise after the plane ride yesterday and then spending the night in a car."

"Oh, okay, that's fine, Brian," Stewie says, nodding. "Only…you don't mind coming up to the apartment with me for a minute, do you? I don't really wanna have to face Susan alone; I have a feeling the poor girl's going to give me hell for leaving her passed out drunk on the floor." He sounds contrite over this misdeed, and also genuinely fearful of the fate of his own ass upon facing Suzie's wrath. "We'll stop on the way and get her some scones. You and I laid on the ones from yesterday."

**BREAK!**

When Brian and Stewie enter the apartment; Suzie storms out into the vestibule. She is wrapped in a grubby old robe, and her complexion is drawn, her appearance suffering from a night of hard drinking. Without preamble she begins to shout.

"You flippin' idiot! You walked out and left me all alone when I was passed out drunk? I could've died, you ass! I could've had alcohol poisoning, or choked to death on my own vomit!"

Stewie goes to her and rubs her arm soothingly. "What's all this now? Suzie-Q…I would _never_ do that. Why would you think that I did?" He does a convincing job feigning the ignorance and indignation of the falsely accused.

Suzie pulls her robe tighter about her, pats at her tresses, and squares her shoulders, evidently trying to summon some ladylike dignity. "I don't remember much about the latter part of our evening, but one of the last things I do is that right before I passed out, you walked out the door," she says. "And this morning when I woke up you weren't here."

"_Baby_." He speaks to her in a voice so syrupy and ostensibly doting that it would be easy for a woman who wants to believe the best of him to ignore its condescension. "How was I to know you were going to pass out? I assumed you'd make it to bed on your own. I left because I needed some air. And the reason why I wasn't here when you woke up? I went out to the car to get the scones for breakfast. The scones? Remember from yesterday? Well, they got left in the car and someway or another got crushed, so I just nipped on over to the bakery and bought some replacements." He holds up the non-squished bag of scones.

Stewie lies well, and with ease.

Suzie seems mostly mollified by now, but she has another question: "Why didn't you carry me to the bed? I woke up on the floor."

"I'm sorry, I guess I couldn't bear to disturb you. You looked so peaceful, like an angel lying there. But once I got back, I sat up most of the night on the sofa, keeping watch over you."

Smiling, appeased, Suzie strokes her hand down the front of Stewie's shirt, as if in an effort to smooth its hopelessly wrinkled state. Her free hand comes up and cups the back of his neck, and Stewie, smiling with the victory of having carried his falsehood off, drops a kiss to her lips.

"But wait," says Suzie, pointing to Brian, "what is _he _doing here?"

Brian clears his throat. "I'll see you later, Stewie," he says, raising a quick hand in farewell to his friend and then hightailing it out of there, shaking his head and chuckling at the ridiculousness of his friend's life.

By the time he's in the elevator, though, he's got more of a knot in his stomach than a stitch in his side as his thoughts turn to the ridiculousness of his own.

**BREAK!**

Happy as they all acted to see him upon his return from Seattle, no one seems to have much time for Brian in the days following. They're all busy doing their own thing. Peter is a few years away from retirement yet and still works at the Pawtucket Brewery, while Lois runs errands during the day. As for the two who live in the garage (not that Brian necessarily _wants _to hang with Meg or baby-sit Wyatt, but it would be nice not be left so _totally_ alone for the majority of the day), even though it's summer and thus Meg isn't slinging slop at Martin Mull Elementary, she's nevertheless gone most of the time. It's because she's out hunting for temporary work, while her son is kept occupied and likewise out of the house with playdates at his friends' houses.

Without the other Griffins around and having their antics to distract him, Brian's got far too much time to dwell on Seattle. One might think by this point he'd be inoculated against depression from failure, having experienced so much of it. But this last time had been the straw that broke the camel's back. And it was different than the other disappointments, because he'd never had this far to fall before. He would gladly live again through the fall from grace he'd experienced after his disastrous appearance on _Real Time _to promote his idiotic bestseller if it meant Seattle didn't happen. This last time had bled him dry financially, torn asunder the literary reputation he'd worked so hard and long to build, and probably wrecked his professional credibility forever. He couldn't even be sure that he wouldn't eventually be facing a shitload of legal trouble for what had happened in Seattle.

And in addition to the professional, there had been the personal. And that one twisted relationship he'd cultivated, crowned by one drunken night during which…

_No. _He's not going to torment himself about that. That had all been just a freak accident, and he'd put a stop to things before they got too out of control.

He wants badly to call Stewie, but for some reason is convinced that he needs an excuse. Now that Stewie is off domesticating- sham though it almost certainly is- with his girlfriend, Brian is hesitant to demand time from the kid.

And so he sits around on the couch bored and lonesome and when the telephone rings at around noon on his fourth day back in Quahog, Brian absolutely lunges for it.

"Hello?" he speaks eagerly into the phone.

"Hello?" a voice says back, also in a questioning tone. Brian immediately identifies the party on the other end of the line as Chris, the scratchy, squeaky voice a dead giveaway.

"Chris! What's up, man? Are you guys back from Orlando?"

The man gives a frightened, high-pitched shriek. "How do you know my name? How do you know where I've been? Who the hell is this?"

Brian rolls his eyes and deadpans into the phone, "Can't you tell, this is Bri-"

"Wait a minute, did I call the wrong house?" Chris wonders out loud, the terror having abruptly dissipated from his tone. "I meant to call my mom and dad."

"No, this is the Griffin residence."

"Oh, oops, I do have the wrong number then, I'm so sorry about this, sir-"

"Wait!" Brian interjects before the man can hang up. "Chris, you don't have the wrong number! Griffin is your last name!"

"No, it's not," replies Chris. "My wife made me take her last name after we got married, and I'm pretty sure before that it was Simpson. Yep, pretty sure that's my family name."

"Chris, it is not," sighs Brian exasperatedly. "That's that cartoon on the FOX network that's in it's fifty-fourth season."

"Oh, yeah," recalls Chris laughingly. "Well, what with the fat, alcoholic dad; hot mom; underachieving son; misunderstood daughter; and incredibly smart youngest child, sometimes I get confused." He pauses. "Who did you say this was again?"

"It's Brian, don't you recognize my voice?" Seriously, if most of Brian's life- recent events in Seattle included- wasn't enough to make him want to put a bullet in his mouth, this nearly was.

"But our dog Brian's in Seattle," Chris objects, sounding suddenly suspicious once more.

Brian cringes.

"I- I came back early."

"Really? Why?"

"It's a long story, but it turns out staying through the summer to get the journal up and running wasn't necessary," says Brian, not technically lying. "So, are you back from Orlando?"

"Yeah, we got back last night," Chris confirms. "It was a really fun trip. We went to Disneyworld and had such a blast! The girls-"

"So, hey, you wanna meet up and go grab a beer?" Brian asks, interrupting him as he forgets how vexed he'd been with Chris's moronic behavior only moments before. Now he's just genuinely excited and hopeful at the thought of somebody, anybody to keep him company. "You can tell me all about it. You took pictures, right?"

Chris chuckles lightly. "Well, I'm at work right now, Brian."

"Oh."

"But it's great that you're back! I'm really looking forward to seeing you. I was actually calling to talk to Mom about getting the whole family together tonight to do something fun…"

Brian hopes, sunken by Chris's turning down the offer to meet for drinks, surge again. "Hey, yeah, that sounds like a great idea, Chris. You guys should come over for a family barbeque! I'm sure Lois won't mind my speaking for her if it means she gets to have a party with all her children and grandchildren around her."

He hangs up in a greatly improved mood that has him rubbing his paws together in anticipation.

The only thing is that while Brian can handle a grill, the rest of the menu may prove problematic.

Tail wagging, he grabs his keys and hastens out the door.

He now has an excuse.

**BREAK!**

Brian's knock at the door of Stewie and Suzie's apartment is answered in short order by the man of the place himself.

"Brian," says Stewie, greeting him with a smile. "How nice to see you indeed. What brings you here?"

"Oh, um, you know, not much, just wanted to hang," Brian replies, stepping inside at Stewie's gesture of invite. "What's up with you guys?" He peers around Stewie and into the room beyond him, where he can see Suzie curled up on the sofa reading a book.

"Oh, nothing," replies the young man. "Susan's studying and I've been doing a jigsaw puzzle." He gestures at the table where the puzzle has been pieced together enough for Brian to be able to tell that the finished picture will be that of a vast grain field, "See? It's wheat." Said in such prideful way that makes Brian feel suddenly pity the kid terribly.

They're like an old married couple, sitting together in the same room and paying no mind to one another, each of them engaged in their own individual humdrum activity.

_But __**jigsaw puzzles**__? Really, Stewie? Is this what the young kids are doing these days? Is that what's hip? And you had to pick the most boring puzzle picture in existence, too. It's really going to be worth fitting together 1,000 pieces to see a __**wheat field**__?_

"Um, cool," Brian comments, attempting to sound sincere and keep a straight face. It doesn't work. He starts cracking up. "No, it's not. Seriously, man, that is just really fucking lame."

Stewie frowns, taking offense, and, opening his mouth to retort, when Suzie surprises them both by agreeing with Brian: "Tell me about it. He _should _be out looking for a job."

"Don't nag me, woman," Stewie grumbles, teeth clenched.

"He got offered the insurance job and he turned it down," Suzie reveals to Brian, though her eyes are fastened reprovingly on Stewie, who looks distinctly unrepentant. Brian smiles at this, then, sensing somebody behind himself, turns around and sees an unknown girl in Stewie and Suzie's age group standing there.

"Hi," says the girl. She steps around Brian into the foyer and, gazing into the front room, addresses herself to Suzie. "Susan, hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Gretchen, what is it?" Suzie wants to know, placing her book off to one side and getting to her feet.

"Just your opinion; I have these wallpaper samples and I was just wondering which pattern you think would look best in our bathroom."

A light of interest comes into Stewie's eyes, and he starts forward toward the woman called Gretchen, uttering an excited "_Ooh…!_"

Then, all of a sudden he freezes, and apparently with effort, composes himself. "That sounds…_so freaking dull, man_. You girls have at it." He emits a chuckle, and it is painfully bogus. "That's- that's women's stuff."

Suzie smiles. "Be right back, you guys." And she quits the apartment along with Gretchen.

Brian coughs. "I'm kinda starved, so-"

"Oh, you're hungry?" Stewie asks hospitably. "Let me make you a sandwich."

Brian starts to decline, but Stewie has already marched by him into the kitchen and is pulling open the refrigerator, asking about cold cuts. Before Brian knows it, he is sitting at the kitchen table with a napkin tucked into his collar, and a huge sandwich stuffed with turkey, salami, roast beef, cheese, and spicy brown mustard in his paws.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to go grab a bite out with me, I wasn't hinting for you to fix me anything. But," with great enjoyment chomping on another mouthful of sandwich, "This _is_ really good."

Stewie laughs a bit. "Oh yeah, I know how to throw meat, cheese and condiments on bread; I'm a regular cordon bleu." He takes up a rag from the sink and begins wiping down the counter.

"But you _do _know how to cook, and that's another part of the reason I stopped by today." Brian's just going to go ahead and ask him straight out; Stewie is crap at refusing him favors, anyway. "Chris and co. are back from Florida; I thought we could have a family barbeque since we haven't all been together in one place in a long time. Come with me to the grocery store to buy some food and supplies and stuff? Then maybe return to the house with me and put together some of the sides and desserts for the meal? I'll handle the grill," he adds.

"Isn't that just like a man," Stewie- who obviously doesn't care about coming across as a total homo when Suzie's not around- remarks, heaving an affectedly overburdened sigh. "You fix them something nice to eat and then they expect you to go and cook for a bunch more people."

Brian chuckles. "Aw, but I _need_ your help; I can barely boil water, but you've got _mad _culinary skills." He scratches his chin and thinks about it. "Which makes sense, I would imagine; if you can mix up ingredients in a lab, you can mix up ingredients in a kitchen."

"And I am a _marvelous_ scientist," Stewie smirks with an pompous toss of the head, then gestures at Brian. "Here we have the beneficiary of my finest creation."

"Yes, 'tis I," says Brian, putting on a Dracula-type voice. "Your vampire dog." He grins at the kid. Of course, Brian's not really immortal, but his internal aging mechanism had been stopped sixteen years ago by a serum of Stewie's concoction, and won't start up again until about four years from now, at which point he'll start aging like a human.

Stewie smiles coyly back. "Hey, you can suck my-"

"Excuse me? What can he suck?" Suzie has turned up in the doorway, and her expression is utterly humorless.

"My blood. Brian's a vampire," replies Stewie casually.

"Oh." Suzie nods slowly, but she regards them both slightly dubiously.

"Brian and I are gonna head out and find some fun," Stewie notifies her.

Suzie instantly thrusts out her lower lip in a pout. "Oh, you're not really? And leave me all alone? I'm bored just sitting around here, too. You know I don't have to be at the arena until eight o'clock tonight, and my schedule's empty until then-"

"Suzie-Q, come on. Right now I really need some guy time."

It is as if there's a sudden whoosh that passes through the room, a breeze that is strong enough to carry an elephant into the room and make the trio in the kitchen freeze and go awkwardly silent for a moment.

"Anyway," Stewie says briskly, breaking the spell of uneasy quiet, "you need to study for your kinesiology exam tomorrow, don't you, babe?"

"Yeah, I guess I do…okay, honey, but…first you should take a detour to the fifth floor. Grant wants to borrow your toolbox. That's the other reason Gretchen came down here."

"Oh, very well," sighs Stewie, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and, ducking down, rummages around in the cabinet below the sink until he retrieves said toolbox. "I'll take it up to him now. Brian's not done with his sandwich yet, anyway." He walks toward the kitchen doorway, stopping on the way to touch Brian on the shoulder and ask him, "Meet me at the car in ten?"

The dog nods in agreement. "Okay."

"Stewie, you'll be back in time for dinner, won't you?" Suzie calls after him.

There's no answer, only the sound of the door shutting, leaving Suzie and Brian to speculate about whether he had willfully ignored or simply hadn't heard her. Whatever the case, Brian doesn't bother enlightening her about what plans he and Stewie have between themselves made for dinner.

Suzie begins to busy herself finishing wiping down the counter that Stewie'd been cleaning while Brian continues munching on his sandwich. No words pass between them for a minute until the dog opens a conversation- and possibly a bag of worms, but he's feeling like an instigator at the moment.

"What was with the way you acted five minutes ago?"

Suzie's brow knits. "What do you mean?"

"Well, just the way you acted like you thought…Stewie was flirting with me or something?"

Suzie stiffens as she stands, her back as rigid as a wooden plank. She gives a dry little laugh that sounds extremely forced. "Why would he flirt with you?"

Brian gives a wide, careless shrug as he takes a moment to chew and swallow a bite of sandwich. "I don't know. Why would you act jealous?"

Suzie laughs again, and her laughter this time sounds still more artificial. "I wasn't."

Brian shrugs even more broadly than he did the last time. "Okay."

"That would be stupid," Suzie insists with a sort of bluster that backfires, all too neatly giving away her own doubts, and making Brian feel a twinge of smugness. She's obviously not so convinced of her own words as she'd have Brian believe. As she _herself _would like to believe. "Stewie likes _women_!"

"Likes women _how_?" Brian asks, unable to stop himself.

Suzie, with an air of menace, sidles across the room, plants her elbows on the table, and leans across it, staring Brian down. "_Sexually_. He's straight, Brian. And no matter what you tell me to the contrary, I'm not going to listen. Yeah, there were rumors when we were in high school that Stewie was on a bit more than friendly terms with a few different boys; I remember the ones about him and some of the guys on his swim team in particular…" she trails off, visibly perturbed for an instant, before she recovers and poses complacently, "But if he really _was_ gay, why would he be with me?"

Brian volleys back easily, "No good reason."

Suzie's eyes slowly become wafer-thin slits as she looks at Brian. "This is the man I wanna spend the rest of my life with. I intend to marry him."

"You know he has to agree to that, right?" Brian wants to say so many other things to this bossy, phony, manipulative, and just altogether unpleasant woman, but Stewie's waiting in the car. He stands from his chair and looks back at Suzie dead-on, right in her currently snakelike eyes. "Unless you plan on drugging, hogtying, and dragging him to the altar."

Suzie follows him out into the apartment's vestibule. He stands with his hand on the doorknob and grins at her.

"You know, Suzie," he says contemplatively. "I would be nicer to me if I was you. So far you seem to be focusing on making Peter and Lois like you, probably 'cause you think if you're in good with the parents, it'll score ya big points with Stewie. But you're barking up the wrong trees, missy. Stewie sets much greater store by _my_ opinion than either of theirs. Not that I'd put in a good word for you no matter _what _you did. I have to look out for Stewie's best interests. And you can't make him happy."

He opens the door and steps out into the corridor, hand still grasping the knob, and says, as he sticks his head and shoulder momentarily back into the apartment, prior to pulling the door shut with a resounding _click_, "Because your boyfriend is gay."

_To be continued…_


	4. LifeAltering Decision

**Wow, I've always considered myself pretty lucky about the level of interest my stories have generated, the number of reviews, and their quality. But for Chapter Three of this story in particular, I received some notably awesome ones. XD Thank you! And for all the various adds, as well, thanks guys. **

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

**Chapter Four: A Life-Altering Decision**

Stewie pushes the cart up and down the aisles of the supermarket in a rather buoyant, carefree fashion, a sort of prance in his walk, a smile in his eyes as they scan the shelves for the items on the list he's compiled. He plays around with the cart every now and then, giving a shove to it and letting it roll speedily and unmanned on ahead before chasing it down and recapturing it before it can crash into anything. He's been in a good mood since he met Brian in the car. The dog had preceded him to the vehicle and been kept waiting inside of it for longer than he'd expected (or appreciated, frankly, but he was just so grateful to have his mind taken off the tribulations of his life, to hang out with his friend that he hadn't complained). Stewie had told him ten minutes, and Brian himself had taken perhaps five upstairs, but had spent probably approximately fifteen in the car before Stewie appeared, his cheeks rosy and a big, cheesy grin on his face.

_Christ, is he __**that**__ relieved to get away from Suzie?_

"You really enjoy grocery shopping, huh?" Brian asks dryly, walking sedately behind the kid as they stroll the aisles.

"Hmm?" Stewie mutters distractedly, then snapping himself out of his happy shopping trance, glances back briefly at the dog and chirps, "Oh, yes, I just find it therapeutic." He hums as he picks up two bottles of olive oil and inspects them both side by side. He chews on his lip as he deliberates; then, after a prolonged moment, he apparently succeeds in deeming one of them superior to the other, and places the winning bottle inside the cart.

"I think we have almost everything now," notes Brian. He comes to stand at Stewie's side, slips the list out of the young man's hand, and runs his eyes over it.

"Yes, just a couple more items."

These remaining products necessary for their barbeque are found and collected in short order, and Brian and Stewie head toward the registers.

In line at one of the checkout lanes, Brian asks, as he waits for the customer ahead of them to finish so he can start loading their prospective purchases onto the conveyer belt: "We're still several hours away from dinner, we should drop this stuff at home and then go for a quick drink."

"Alright, yeah, cool," Stewie consents, favoring Brian with a smile over the shoulder before reverting his attention to the celebrity tabloid magazine he's thumbing through. "Oh, no!" he exclaims despondently. "Suri Cruise and Kingston Rossdale broke up! It says here that he wants to spend more time with his band, and she wants to spend more time speaking out against anti-depressants with her father, who never liked Gavin, and suggests that his daughter find her next husband at Area 51. _Ohhhh_, how I'm going to miss my Cruisedale."

Brian grabs the plastic divider used to separate one customer's groceries from another's and begins putting thing up on the belt, shaking his head as he does so.

_Gay, gay, gay._

**BREAK!**

There is a part of his mind that asks why he's so almost fanatically interested in Stewie and Suzie's sham romance. Could Stewie be right? _Was _he just a know-it-all who loves to meddle?

But isn't it his duty to meddle, if it can prevent his friend's suffering? He always speaks up when he thinks any of the other Griffins are erring in _their_ judgment (though the majority of the time they don't listen to him, either). He just wants Stewie to be authentically himself. There will be distressing complications in the long run if Stewie keeps repressing that aspect of himself. And so Brian is willing to be snapped at, told off, and resented until he achieves his goal. He's just that good of a person.

Because he would step in where a friend's happiness is at stake, that makes him officious?

Then again, if he is to really examine his conscience properly, there _is _a possible motivation that has its roots in selfishness. Stewie has never really been exclusive with anyone before; there had never been anyone who'd mattered enough to Stewie that Brian saw them as a threat to his own 1 spot on the kid's 'Important People in My Life' list.

Until now.

Maybe he should just allow the kid to lead his life however he wants to. That _sounds_ like the right thing to do, even if it doesn't quite feel like it. Brian can't even see this little experiment of Stewie's couldn't lasting in the long term, so why not let it run its surely-destined-to-be-short course?

"I haven't been in your car in years," comments Stewie wistfully, buckling his seatbelt as they climb inside, ready to take the groceries back to his parent's house. "It brings back so many memories, when you and I would travel to countless places in it, just two kings of the road." He smiles nostalgically at Brian as the dog turns over the engine.

Brian snickers and quips, "You were a _queen _of the road."

"Aha, be careful," Stewie warns, "about what that implies. If I was the queen of road and you were the king…"

Brian smirks. "I never _said _I was king of the road, though. I wasn't; I was only the dog along for the ride."

"By order of the queen!" replies Stewie triumphantly.

Shortly after this lighthearted exchange, however, Brian picks up in a subtle shift in the atmosphere and looks over to the passenger in his car; the humor has drained from Stewie's face, and to Brian's great surprise, the kid suddenly pours forth in a rushed, roughened voice of defensive insistence:

"Listen, for your information, it isn't as though I find women repugnant. Susan is the first and only female I've ever slept with, true, but whenever we have sex it's…it's…good," he says in a tone and with gritted teeth that strongly imply that that 'good' really meant 'barely alright'.

Stewie hesitates, then continues contemplatively, confidingly: "The reality is that sexuality isn't as cut-and-dry a concept as many people would like to believe. It happens to be my own very strongly-held personal opinion that everybody is at least a little bisexual. And while yes, I'm _mostly_ gay, I don't want to be in a relationship with a man, so…"

Brian seizes on this statement, which must be the key as to why Stewie has chosen to don this ill-conceived role of 'straight man', as it were**. **"Why not?"

"It…It'll be hard for you to understand, I think," murmurs the young man, avoiding Brian's searching gaze in the rearview mirror. "You're not familiar with the gay dating scene…but basically, the only men I ever encountered when I was still involved with it wanted just the one thing. They were interested solely in adding up notches on their bedposts, not in getting to know a person, courting them, and building a real relationship. Like at the clubs I would go to- nothing was sacred, nobody was faithful to anyone, and the dissoluteness they practiced! Now, I consider myself to be pretty sexually liberated, but I was flat-out disgusted by the scenes of _horrid _debauchery…"

"Straight clubs have that, too," Brian points out. "Clubs are hookup spots, anyway, especially for young people like yourself. And _of course _most of them aren't looking for anything serious yet."

"But, you know, why is it always about the _sex, _anyway?" Stewie asks. "Even in serious relationships…there's more to them than that. I-it's just a part, just a _part_ of the package. And if I've got the rest of the package, I think I can repress my desires in order to hang on to what I want that's good!" Stewie theorizes in an obstinate tone. "Also, there're always things we can do, right, to make things more satisfying in the bedroom. For- for example, since I like being the parking space more than I like being the car: do you think she'd be weirded out if I told her I wanted her to incorporate _toys _into our bedroom activities? That is, if I wanted her to get me off with her dil-"

"Um, I, I don't know, I don't know," Brian hastens to cut in, feeling a blush threatening. Stewie snickers at how flustered his friend is, earning him a dirty look from the dog, and then they both go silent for the remainder of the car ride to the Drunken Clam.

Once arrived there, they install themselves on stools at the far end of the bar with their drinks (a martini for Brian and for Stewie, a virgin Tom Collins. Because it's before five. Seriously.) Brian can sense that Stewie is sort of distant, and he knows that his friend is yet thinking of their previous conversation, just like he himself is. He's soon proved correct. They've barely been seated for a minute when Stewie says,

"What do you think of her?"

The dog knows Stewie has just jumped back into what they were discussing in the car, so there's no need to ask who the kid is referring to.

Brian doesn't think twice about giving the kid his honest opinion.

"She's a shrew." Capping the matter-of-factly-delivered verdict with a casual sip of his martini.

Far from sticking up for his girlfriend, Stewie guffaws. "Yes, she can be, can't she?"

"She's very serious about you," Brian says, scrutinizing Stewie carefully to gauge his reaction to the news he's about to disclose. "She uh, she revealed to me when we were in your kitchen together today that she wants to marry you."

Stewie laughs. "Yeah, and she'll probably get her way, too." He polishes off the rest of his drink, replaces his glass on the counter, smacks his lips together. "And I dare say it's bound to be sometime in the near future."

Brian is aghast.

"Stewie, you're twenty-three years old! You're way too young to be thinking about marrying anyone."

"Well, I don't think I have to tell you that I've always been mature for my age."

Brian shakes his head. "Even so. Where's the rush? I'm sure you'll find the right person eventually."

Stewie's eyes quite suddenly flare up and glow with a surprisingly keen anger. "Oh, really? And just _how_ can you be so sure of that, hmm? _You_ never found the right person." As quickly as it appeared, the acrimony evaporates and leaves those enormous orbs just looking incredibly sad.

Dual and conflicting emotions rise up within the dog, the kid's words provoking both empathy, in addition to an unreasonable resentment at Stewie for merely speaking the truth. Brian chokes down the latter, however, in order to take the soothing attitude Stewie needs from him right now. "It's tough out there; I'm all too willingly to admit it, and I won't try to downplay the pitfalls, heartaches, and disillusionments that come along with dating. But I've gained some valuable experience and now, at least, I know what it is that I _don't_ want." And now, a little lying is in order: "Also…just so you know…I haven't _totally_ given up on the notion of finding lasting love. Thanks to you, I've got plenty of years to keep looking." He tries to smile encouragingly.

"And how many years have you been looking already? I- I can't do that, Brian. I…_want_ to be married! More than that, I _need_ to have that stabilizing force in my life. I need…I need _somebody_. Somebody who'll always be there. Somebody who belongs to me. Somebody who admires and appreciates me. And she does that. Why, she regards me as practically her lord and master!" Stewie boasts. Then in a mumble he adds as a qualifier, "As long as I'm doing things that she agrees with, that is."

Brian scrutinizes him intently. "You can't love her."

"I care about her," Stewie replies, staring at his reflection in his drained glass.

"Buddy," says Horace, inserting himself into the conversation as he walks down the bar to retrieve a bottle for another customer at the opposite end. "'Caring' is something you feel for your dog. You gotta love a woman to marry her."

"I _more_ than care about my dog," Stewie responds quietly. He looks over at Brian, who smiles in thanks. A slight awkwardness arises in the wake of this affectionate profession, but it passes soon enough as Stewie carries on. "I _don't_ love her. She's clingy, brash- which I like in a man, but not so much in a woman- shallow, we have next to nothing in common, and-" he pauses, then announces with particular revulsion, as if he finds this quality the most objectionable of all, "-and she puts mayonnaise on her fries! Who _does_ that?"

Brian replies dryly, "Well, _her_, apparently."

"Oh, haha, ya douche. You know what I like most about you? You're never trite."

Brian only smiles at Stewie's sarcasm, their banter being one of the things Brian enjoys most about their relationship, and one of things he missed most while in Seattle. Soon, however, the canine turns serious again. "If you care about her," he begins gently, "you can't think it's fair to consign her to a life with someone who'll never love her, never look at her the way she probably dreams about… and no matter what you say, Stewie, about being able to sacrifice desires, you _won't_ be able to stay faithful to her for as long as you live. You know you won't."

"I don't-" Stewie's mouth clamps shut and he scowls wretchedly down at his shoes, looking like he's on the verge of having some type of a fit, but settles on bursting out with exasperatedly, "I think we've been here long enough, can't we just go?"

Taken aback, Brian puts his martini down on the bar and blinks at the young man before him. "Um, I guess-"

Stewie's expression softens, and he momentarily places a hand over Brian's paw. "You've given me a lot to think about. Thank you."

**BREAK!**

As they'd walked out of the bar about three quarters of an hour ago, Brian had been able- courtesy of his doggie sixth-sense about the weather- to deduce that it was coming on to rain. The clouds are gathering, though not very ominous-looking yet, during the drive to Spooner Street.

Stewie and Brian are in the kitchen, Stewie multitasking like a pro, working on several dishes at once. He chides Brian about being an idle bystander and issues directives for him to at least help out by doing trivial things like open jars, stir this or that mixture, turn the heat up on a certain burner, and "Fetch the chef a spatula- no, not a turner, you imbecile, a _spatula_. There's a very big difference between the two."

Brian doesn't know if Stewie is noticing the light in the room decreasing in gradual increments as the hour goes on, but at some point it's obvious that there is no longer any sunlight coming into the room.

What drives the point home is when the pitter patter of rain is finally heard against the windows, just when they have put the finishing touches on the last of the food. They exchange displeased looks.

Stewie goes and peers outside. "Beautiful barbeque weather."

"Goddamn it," Brian grumbles. "Of course when it's something _I_ arranged it has to wind up as a fiasco."

"Yeesh, and _I'm _the drama queen?"

"Have I actually ever called you a drama queen? I mean, you _are_ one, indisputably, but today I just called you a queen of the road."

"You want to know what I think?" The kid doesn't wait for an answer. "I think you've been so fixated on _my_ alleged problems because you don't want to have to think about something that's rotten in your own life."

Brian knew it was coming. He knew Stewie was going to ask again. But he's not really ready to talk about it, now, either. "What happened in Seattle was bad, I already confessed that to you my first night back. And I _am _trying not to think too much about it. It's sort of distressing to think about. And…it _happened_, you know, it's too late for me to do anything about it. The longer-reaching repercussions…well, I'll deal with those when they come."

Stewie gives him a long, even look and remarks, "I never thought it was a good idea for _you _to go to the city that leads America in number of citizens suffering from depression."

Brian contemplates Stewie, the person he's closest to in all the world. A big part of why he'd been so anxious to get home was so that Stewie, who's so adept at finding the right things to say to Brian to bust him at least partially out of his funk, who can sometimes even contrive some ingenious, active steps to take to make the dog's situation less desperate, could comfort him. He can't do that if Brian leaves him in the dark. Time to let him in on something of the truth.

"I got to come back early because…the man I was supposed to be establishing the literary journal with took the money from our investors for our startup costs and skipped town. I don't have a clue where he's at now, but the bottom line is that there will be no magazine. It was highly publicized that I was involved with this it- too many people attach my name to this publication that will never be. So…my career is probably totally defunct. Once word gets out about this, I don't know _what_ I'm going to do."

"Oh, Brian…" Stewie starts, wearing a consternated frown, and taking a step forward toward the dog. But before he can offer further condolences, the front door is heard to open, and Lois soon strolls into the kitchen.

"Oh. Hello, boys," her nasally voice chimes out. Noticing the numerous plates and bowls and trays of food heaped on the tables and counters, she asks, "What's all this?"

Brian begins to explain: "Well, earlier Chris called here and said that he, Gina, and the kids are back from Orlando, so-"

"Oh, Chris and his family are back? How great."

"Well, practically speaking, no, it is not such a detestable occurrence, but this rain most definitely is!" Stewie fumes. "We've been putting all this together on purpose to have for an outdoor barbeque! Brian was going to work the grill!"

"Oh, dear," mutters Lois. "That's too bad. Perhaps it will quit in another hour or two. If not, though, we can always just enjoy this delicious-looking food inside."

"I don't know, Lois. The steaks I got are meant to be cooked on a grill," says Brian, frowning.

"Hmm…" she murmurs thoughtfully, as her face shows that she is trying to come up with an alternative plan for the evening. "How about we all just go for pizza? We'll put this stuff in the fridge to have another time. Peter will be home in forty-five minutes, and then Meg should be back right after. I'll get their okay on the idea, then call Chris and have him and his family meet us at the pizza parlor at seven, how's that sound?"

Stewie and Brian agree, with Stewie adding, "I think I'll go home until then."

"Well, then, it's all decided." Lois pulls a sad face. "I do feel bad, though, that you went to all this trouble-"

"Don't worry about it," Stewie says breezily on his way out. "I'll send you my bill."

**BREAK!**

_Brian is alone. He is standing in the middle of nothingness, surrounded by endless white on all sides, not a sign of anything else. _

_The scene changes, and he's on a bicycle, riding it across the sky, to the music used to accompany the Wicked Witch in __**The Wizard of Oz. **__The whole thing seems totally absurd, not least of all because, as a dog, he should probably be in the basket, not doing the actual peddling, just for the sake of drawing a smooth parallel._

_The bike vanishes from under him, and he is freefalling out of the sky, mysteriously without experiencing the urge to scream. When he hits the ground, the impact brings no pain. One look around and he realizes he has landed in Quahog's local cemetery, and what's more, directly on top of a certain grave. He reads the headstone in front of him: _Biscuit. _Brian's brow furrows in incomprehension as he reaches out a paw to lightly trace his fingers along the letters etched deep into the stone. This is all wrong. His mother was buried in Austin, and not even in a cemetery there, but in a park. He looks to his right, at the neighboring grave, and recognizes the name adorning the headstone marking that one, as well. _Coco. _Brian's befuddlement increases. His father's here, too? What the hell is going on? _

_Suddenly, the ground all around him starts shuddering violently. Brian cries out and hugs his mother's headstone, keeping his head down and whimpering in fear. The earthquake, or whatever it was, though, lasts for only a few seconds. A few seconds after that, Brian finally ventures to raise his head. Coco's headstone has cracked in half, split down the middle, and mountains of flowers are erupting out of the chasm and landing on the grave of Brian's father. Amongst them is something else, a little stuffed bear, strangely familiar to Brian, although in this moment he can't place it. He reaches for it, but as he does, his eye catches hold of something in the distance._

_A wolf is prowling around the perimeters of the cemetery. Brian, in a state of trepidation, watches the predator's every move with his heart in his throat. Yes, it is a canine like him, but Brian can tell the wolf will _not _be up for a little 'kumbaya' moment. No, this creature is angry, on the hunt for something to rip to shreds. And there's no way Brian'll be able to fight it off._

_Then, to Brian's horror, the wolf stops dead in its tracks, slowly turns its head, and locks eyes with him. It begins to snarl and crouch, ready to spring._

_This can't end well._

"No! No! Don't! Stay back! I-"

Waking with a jolt, Brian realizes that he had been asleep, dreaming, and that Lois is squatting beside him on the floor next to the couch, shaking his arm.

"Brian? Brian, are you okay? Wake up, you're having a nightmare."

His heart is hammering in his chest, and he feels chilled, and a small, crawling anticipation of dread. But of course it was only a dream and dreams can't hurt you. Regardless of how much this one seemed like an omen. Brian doesn't believe in such things.

"I'm…okay. Thanks for waking me, Lois."

"Well, I would've had to, anyway. It's nearly seven o'clock. Time to go to the pizzeria."

**BREAK!**

"Oh, Mrs. Griffin, here, let me get those," says Suzie in her most helpful voice, taking the tray of sodas out of Lois's hands, smiling sycophantically. She and Stewie have just arrived at the pizza place, the last to show. Brian, sitting with Chris, Gina, Peter, and Meg, stoically watches the interchange between the latecomers and Lois, watches as Suzie brings over the sodas while Lois brings the breadsticks. Stewie goes over to a corner of the restaurant where they have videogames and a ball pit, the latter of which Chris and Gina's kids, along with Wyatt, are making good use of.

After Suzie has delivered the drinks, she joins Stewie and they start playing an interactive snowboarding game, with both of them standing on the single board used to control the player in the game. Suzie is behind Stewie, arms tightly encircling his midsection for no good reason, couching him on turns and jumps, and trying to move in tandem with him.

Observing them laugh together, and cheer whenever big points are scored, it's surprising to Brian to realize that there just may be some sort of a rapport between them, some genuine affection. He turns his attention from the pair of them to the fat droplets of water rolling lazily down the windows of the pizzeria.

"Hey, Brian, did you wanna see those pictures?" asks Chris, nudging him gently in the side and pushing a packet of photos toward him. Brian smiles courteously (seeing as he was the one who asked about these pictures in the first place), opens the packet, and begins to flip through them, acting as interested as he can.

A couple of minutes later, the guy behind the counter calls the number corresponding to the Griffin party's order. Lois jumps up to retrieve the food, and Suzie, perceiving this, forsakes her game with Stewie and hastens to aid her boyfriend's mother in carrying the rather abundant order. Stewie goes to sit down at the two tables pushed together to form an extra-long one with enough space for all of the Griffin clan to assemble. Soon enough, Lois and Suzie are there with two jumbo pizzas and a large container of salad, helping to serve up the food to everyone before taking their seats. Suzie sits across from Peter.

"Hi, Susan," the Griffin family patriarch greets her. "I heard from your dad that you're doing really well in school."

"Well, yes, sir, I'm proud to say that I am. But then again, I _do_ have the world's best tutor." She aims a fawning smile at her significant other.

"The best tooter, eh? That sounds like a challenge to me." Peter stands up and turns around, facing his ass toward the two twenty-somethings and sticking it out. His face screws up slightly…

"Peter, for god's sake, no! Sit your ass down!" Lois orders crossly.

Meg calls Wyatt over and he comes running. She looks on as her nieces and nephew continue to romp in the ball pit, with neither Gina nor Chris seeming concerned with doing anything about this.

"Gina," she ventures, "aren't you going to make your kids sit down and eat?"

Gina has been married to Chris for ten years. One of the 'popular crowd', she hung around Connie D'Amico in high school. She's a cool customer, aloof and cynical, but also eminently sensible, and a good partner for Chris. They are polar opposites in many ways, but in that they echo Peter and Lois, who, despite definitely having undergone their share of ups and downs, are still, overall, going strong to this day, and Chris and Gina seem all set to follow in their footsteps. They even have three children, only instead of two boys to one girl, they have the reverse ratio. Veronica is eight, Rex is five, and the youngest, Cassie, is three.

"Pointless," Gina responds apathetically. "I knew before we brought them here that they would only want to play. I managed to cram some PB&J sandwiches down their gullets before we left."

Meg simply nods, a trifle doubtfully. She pauses, then addresses the other woman again.

"So, Gina…"

"Yeah?" prompts her sister-in-law absently, focusing on loading her fork with leafy greens.

Meg coughs and averts her eyes coyly. "Do you know any single guys -possibly from your office- that you could set me up with?" she asks hopefully, twirling a strand of hair about a pudgy finger.

Gina looks up at her, annoyed and a little disbelieving. Her eyebrow quirks disdainfully. "None that are desperate, Meg," she responds flatly, popping a forkful of salad into her mouth.

"Fine!" is Meg's highly piqued retort. She tips her chin up loftily, posing the question, "Who needs them, anyway, when I've got the greatest guy in the world already?", hugging her son tightly.

Wyatt stares about the restaurant with eyes that hold a plea for help.

Just then, Brian notices that Stewie is standing up off to the side of their table. In the next moment, he is clearing his throat importantly, and tapping a knife against the side of his water glass.

"Pray do pardon the interruption, all, but I've got something to say."

The table falls silent, and so, too, does the restaurant for the most part- all but for the children squealing in the ball pit.

"I-_ we_," Stewie amends, extending a hand to help Suzie to her feet. Once she's standing, he wraps an arm about her waist. "would like to take this opportunity to announce our pre-engagement."

The hush that Stewie had commanded prior to this proclamation continues for a stretch of several long moments after its conclusion. Brian imagines that the rest of his dining companions are all probably looking rather blank, but he can't glance around the table to verify this supposition, as his eyeballs seem to be fastened inextricably on the cheek-splitting, plastic smile on Stewie's face.

At last Lois is the one to speak the words on everybody's mind.

"'_Pre-engagement'? _What does that mean?"

"I'll tell you what it means, Mother. It means that right now, I unfortunately can't afford a jewel that's glorious enough for _my_ _jewel_. But, in another year, we hope to be on more stable financial footing, and then I can _truly_ ask for her hand. Until then, I've given her this bracelet as a symbol of my intentions." He makes Suzie hold up her wrist, on which dangles a simple silver bracelet.

Meg snorts. "Huh. Cop out."

Brian is rather inclined to agree. At the same time, he's vastly relieved that Stewie isn't standing in front of them making an even bigger pledge to Suzie, and giving everyone else the wrong idea of what to expect regarding the future of their relationship. Just this so-called pre-engagement has Brian disturbed enough; in fact, the more he sits there and lets the idea settle, the more troubled he finds himself growing.

"Well," says Lois, with a nervous giggle, hand to her heart, "I'm content enough with that I guess, as long as you're not planning on a walk down the aisle tomorrow. A year from now, maybe two…you're both still so young."

Peter raises his soda glass. "To our family's great tradition of its men marrying women so far out of their league that God must surely be weeping for the lost chances to make the breathtaking, supernaturally beautiful children they would have had with their equal in physical attractiveness."

"Here, here!" seconds Chris heartily, lifting his cup into the air as well.

The remainder of the evening passes in an intolerable, slow-motion ordeal to Brian. If only he could get Stewie alone to confront him about this pre-engagement business. But they're not seated next to each other, and Suzie has been leaning on his arm ever since they sat back down, and whispering in his ear, and Brian's own company is being hogged by Chris, whose damn vacation photos he now couldn't care less about seeing.

Outside the earlier slow, steady rain has turned aggressive, the sound of it beating against the windows and combining with the cacophony of voices at their table, the ball pit, and all around the pizzeria to threaten to drive Brian crazy.

He just keeps repeating to himself over and over in his head that Stewie _must, _simply _must_ have pulled tonight's little stunt as a way to keep Suzie pacified in the relationship while he yet lacked the courage to leave it.

But just in case not, Brian knows what he has to do.

The dinner ends, with Stewie and Susan being the first to leave the pizzeria, followed by Meg and Wyatt, then Chris and his family. Brian walks out of the restaurant at the same time the two senior Griffins do.

He can't let this happen. He can't let Stewie destroy his life.

Peter and Lois have parked next to Brian.

"Coming straight home, Brian?" Lois asks as she and Peter approach their car.

Brian shakes his head. "No. There's uh, there's something I have to take care of first."

"Oh, okay," says Lois as she shuffles further beneath the oversized umbrella Peter is holding over them both. "But I hope for your sake it doesn't take too long. It's raining harder by the minute, and I'd hate for you to get caught in a storm or a flood."

"I'll be alright, Lois."

**BREAK!**

The door is unlocked, a circumstance which Brian takes full advantage of. Fur soaking wet from his dash from the car to the building in the now nearly torrential rainfall, he bursts into the apartment without hesitation. All is quiet within, but he'd seen Stewie's car in the parking lot.

He makes his way to Stewie and Suzie's bedroom, where he finds Stewie stationed at a computer desk in front of a window.

He jumps when the young man speaks the dog's name before Brian gets the chance to address his friend.

Stewie goes on:

"I saw you drive up. Not that the ghastly wet dog smell wouldn't suffice to alert me to your presence." Stewie's voice has a startlingly harsh tinge to it.

Brian can only ask, "Well?", in the flattest, most no-nonsense of tones.

Stewie doesn't turn around to look at Brian. Instead he stares at a part of the wall above his desk. "'Well' what?"

"Well, what the hell, man?" Brian demands again, verging on shouting. "I wanna know what you could've possibly been thinking tonight when you got up in front of your family and announced your intention to marry Suzie! I thought we'd agreed you weren't going to lead her on anymore!"

"I'm not leading her on." Stewie's voice is leaden, and still the young man won't turn around. "That promise bracelet represents a real promise. I _am _going to marry her one day. Hopefully sooner rather than later. I'd like to be _married_ within a year, not just officially engaged by then."

It's like the bottom of Brian's stomach drops out.

_Stewie had been serious?_

He lets out a bitter chuckle. "There goes my consolation that at least I had a lot of time to talk you out of it."

At last Stewie stands and faces Brian, which he does to glower at the dog.

"I've had just about enough of this. Why the hell do you care so much, anyway, Brian, whom I marry? This is _my_ life, and you've no right to dictate to me how I conduct it. If I'm making a mistake, it is mine to make."

"Okay…in a way, you have a point there," Brian concedes, gentling his tone. "But in another way, I would be a sorry excuse for a friend if I just kept my mouth shut while you continued to pursue what's going to end up being very detrimental to your happiness. I'm not doing this so I don't have to deal with my own problems, I'm doing this because I _care._"

He feels himself getting worked up again, and before he knows it, he is raising his voice considerably and entreating the kid passionately, "Listen, Stewie, whatever qualms you have about being your true self, whatever you're afraid of, it's just plain stupid! I-if it's a question of conventions, well, society's getting more tolerant all the time, and if they don't care if you have the traditional fairytale romance, why should you? You don't have to marry a _woman _to have a great, stable relationship, and as for kids, well, duh, you must know you have options! Surrogacy, adoption…hell, seeing as it's _you_ we're talking about I bet you could even figure out a way to bear your partner's child!"

"Oh, god, no, and sacrifice my svelte physique just so I can say I 'gave life'," Stewie accents the phrase with mocking reverence, "and feel like some sort Madonna figure? The only Madonna I want to resemble we saw the last of in the early nineties. Her later reinventions, from the one who had Skeletor's hands and Thor's arms-"

He sees Brian opening his mouth, about to intersect and forestalls him by getting back on topic.

"It doesn't really have anything to do with having a family, I could take or leave the kids, it's just- it's just…listen: the only lasting relationship I've been able to sustain with a guy has been with you." Stewie clasps his hands in front of him and gazes down at his knuckles. He offers up a rueful laugh. "You wanna marry me, Brian?"

Brian must look alarmed or something because, as Stewie looks back up, his mouth twists contemptuously. "There's no need to panic, I wasn't in earnest, you dolt."

"Well, maybe I should do it, just to keep you from being miserable for the rest of your life," Brian bites back.

"Ha," Stewie jeers. "What makes you think I wouldn't be miserable with you? I'd rather have sex with a woman for the rest of my life than no sex at all."

Brian tilts his head to one side and regards the other solemnly. "You don't want this, kid. Not really. I can tell you don't want this."

Stewie stares silently into the dog's eyes for a protracted moment before stating, rather than asking, "You'll be best man, of course."

"Like hell I will," Brian growls. He folds his arms in front of him, unyieldingly over his chest. "You're my best friend, and I love you, man, but I'm sorry, I can't stand behind you while you make such a gargantuan mistake."

Stewie returns all of the dog's severe look. "If you really loved me, you'd support me in this."

"And if _you _really loved _me_, you'd call off your wedding!"

The air around them rings with a pregnant silence, and Brian shifts self-consciously in his stance. "I, er, I didn't mean that the way it sound-"

Brian's speech is cut off and the air knocked out of him when Stewie, quick as a flash, charges Brian and tackles him to the floor. The young man's fingers coil tightly around the dog's collar, and he starts to simultaneously shake and choke Brian. The canine's paws reach up and frantically scrabble, and they eventually manage to pry the hands off his collar. He gives Stewie a hard shove to the chest, and when the kid goes over, Brian comes down on top of him, and they roll, numerous times across the floor, first one on top and then the other while they tussle. No punches are thrown, but they grab shoulders and shake, grab necks and choke, and try to twist and pin down limbs. What the object is isn't really clear.

They continue to scuffle for a minute more until Stewie just suddenly quits fighting. Brian likewise stops brawling, and stares down at the kid, whose body seems to sort of deflate beneath Brian. His form goes still and slack but for his chest, moving rapidly up and down and taking the dog along for the ride. Stewie's face is flushed, his eyes bright with some indefinable emotion, and Brian can't decide if his friend looks like he's about to laugh or cry.

All at once the bedroom door opens, and this is how Suzie finds them: Brian sitting astride Stewie, pinning him to the floor, both of them short of breath, Stewie's hair and Brian's fur disheveled.

She looks absolutely appalled. And then, livid.

The raising of her hackles is almost visually perceptible. "What's going on in here?"

"You of all people should be able to tell," Stewie answers her blandly. "We're wrestling."

"You…_asshole_!" she hisses, her voice low and lethal. "How could you do this to me? We're engaged!"

Stewie shakes his head and rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. "We're not engaged."

With insulted incredulity, Suzie snarls, "Engaged _to be_ engaged!"

"Whatever." Stewie picks his head up off the floor and motions for Brian to slide off him. The dog experiences an inexplicable moment of reluctance to move: not because he lacks the energy, but simply because his seat is so comfortable- somehow, even bony as the hips he's sitting across are. He complies, though, of course, and gets up.

"We weren't doing anything," Stewie continues.

"Yeah, I'm so sure!" Suzie spits venomously. "You're not going to pull the wool over my eyes. I _know_ you've been infatuated with him since you were a child, Stewart!"

Stewie coughs and casts a fleeting, embarrassed look at Brian. The dog keeps his expression neutral. His internal reaction matches his external one; it's no revelation to him that Stewie used to have a crush on him. But those feelings had been squelched long ago. Their friendship never would've survived otherwise.

"You've hardly touched me since he got back into town!" Suzie shouts. She's got a powerful voice. It's totally feminine, but a contralto, not wispy and outlandishly girlish like her mother's. It's nowhere near Joe's, either, but she must share his lung power, because when she yells, Brian swears the windows rattle in their frames.

"Well, I hardly touched you _before_ he came back, so…" Stewie trails off, a little listless. He looks back to Brian again, longer this time. He sighs. When he starts talking again, his voice is calm, compassionate, but resolute. "I'm glad you returned from the corner store when you did; there's something we need to talk about, if you'll cut the histrionics."

"'Histrionics'? Oh, I'm being histrionic, now, am I? Well, how am I supposed to react when I catch my fiancé cheating on me?"

"I wasn't cheating," Stewie reiterates. He tries to take her hand, but she snatches it away.

"Susan," Stewie persists, "I've something very important to say, and it's crucial that I say it now. You're a great girl, and I've been so lucky to have you in my life for these past five months, but…I'm sorry, I…I can't do this. I can't stay in this relationship any longer."

Suzie's response is unexpectedly low-key. "Uh-huh," she murmurs after a slight pause. "And may I ask why?"

Brian simply stands in the background, watching and listening with bated breath, almost not daring to believe that what he's witnessing is in actuality taking place. At what point, exactly, did Stewie change his mind and decide to do this?

Sighing deeply and gnawing on his bottom lip, Stewie dithers, but at last he is able to look her square in the eye and say, "Because it's no good for either of us. I'm gay. I always have been and I always will be. I know that must come as a huge shock-"

Brian snorts loudly and Stewie glares at him over his shoulder.

"There are no words to convey how sorry I am for wasting your time," the young man goes on, returning his focus to Suzie, "or for squandering your heart. But this is how I really feel, what I really am, how things must inevitably stand."

"Hmm…" murmurs Suzie, her expression unreadable. "And you expect me to believe it's only a coincidence that the same week _he_ shows up you suddenly decide you want to break up with me?"

Stewie steals another short, sidewise glance in Brian's direction.

"Yes. Only a coincidence."

"L-listen, I understand that this is hard for you to hear, and you probably don't even want to look at me right now," Stewie adds, still speaking very respectfully. "Just give me some time to pack an overnight bag and I'll be out of here and out of your hair in two shakes of a lamb's tale if you'll let me know what time I can come back tomorrow to collect the rest of my stuff."

Suzie's face is crumpling by now, and moistness appears in her eyes. "Alright," she agrees tearfully. "I'll ask Gretchen to come down here around two in the afternoon and wait for you while I'm in class. She'll let you in and, well, make certain you only take what is yours. No offense."

"None taken," Stewie assures her, sounding profoundly relieved. He sighs. "Thank you for taking this so well. I knew that you legitimately cared for me, and would want me to be happy." He leans in and pecks her on the cheek. "You're one classy lady."

Suzie doesn't respond, merely pulls back from Stewie and motions for them to allow her to escort them out, her gait and movements as she leads them almost mechanical in nature.

She sees them into the lobby outside the apartment and stands there in the doorway, where she abruptly snaps out of zombie mode, hauls off and starts screaming again.

"You son of a bitch! You goddamn, deceptive little shithead, how dare you do this to me? You lied to me for five fucking months, you said you wanted to marry me, and all this time you've been lying to me about who you are…YOU! LITTLE! QUEER!" she roars, and with hands trembling from rage fumbles with the clasp of her silver bracelet. Tearing the piece of jewelry from her wrist, she pitches it at Stewie's face, hard, before slamming the door shut with equal vigor.

Stewie holds the bracelet in his open palm and gazes dumbstruck from it to Brian, then casually shrugs his shoulders. "Well, I guess I'm a free man."

_To be continued…_

**So, Stewie's gotten rid of his beard. Fare thee well, Suzie. I think we'll be seeing her again in a later chapter or two, however. Stewie won't be getting off **_**that**_** easy, lol! (or Brian, either, for that matter…)**

**Feed me, feed me, feed me feedback, please, please, please! XD Leave a review, let me know what you think of the latest developments!**


	5. New Man

**I'm sorry I've taken so long to update. I'm doubly sorry to those of you out there who might have been worried that I was going to abandon this story. I promise, I never for a moment considered doing such a thing. I was just busy writing something else for somebody other than you fine people, that I'd also put off doing for longer than I should have. (They actually had to wait longer, if it's any consolation). But I'm back now, and rarin' to go! XD**

**Anyway…okay, now you guys are just trying to outdo yourselves with the excellent quality of your reviews! I guess compliments are a great motivator on both ends! ;P Thank you so freakin' much!**

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

**Chapter Five: New Man**

The young man and the dog stand at the glass door that is the entrance to Suzie-and, until very recently, Stewie's- apartment building, looking out at the deluge of water being unleashed from the skies. A relatively shallow yet fast-moving stream of the rainwater water flows down the street. A bright streak of lightening appears before them, close enough to the building to cause them both to recoil several paces away from the door. Stewie turns to Brian and says, "Well, I guess that settles it. We can't go anywhere in all this. We'll have to sleep here in the lobby."

Brian sighs, displeased, but acknowledges the sense of the scheme. He goes over to a small two-seater wicker sofa at the far end of the lobby and cops a squat. He picks up a copy of _Modern Dog Magazine_, opening it to a random page. The corners of his mouth pull into a frown at the title of the article he lands on- _The Defense For No-Bark Collars: Shock Your Pooch Into Submission_- and he disgustedly casts the magazine aside.

Stewie strides over and begins pacing in front of Brian; the kid's face has taken on a look of vexation, and he pushes a hand through his hair agitatedly. "You know, I didn't get my overnight bag? I was so proud of myself for drudging up the courage to come out to her and end the relationship that I completely forgot that I wanted to put one together. The nerve of the wench! How dare she get me so frazzled? I should go back up there, get my bag, and give her a piece of my mind!"

"No, I don't think that you should," argues Brian. "We don't need any more of a scene tonight."

Stewie halts in his frenzied walking back and forth and looks at Brian, diverted. He snorts. "'A scene'? Oh my, no, let's not have a scene. Heaven forefend!"

"It won't be worth it, Stewie," Brian reasons. "Jeez, what are you even going to _do _with an overnight bag tonight? While we're staying _here? _Where-where're you even gonna change into your pajamas, or brush your teeth at tonight?

"Oh, okay, you get your way, no more drama from me tonight," Stewie vows, holding up his fingers in the 'Scout's honor' sign before seating himself daintily on a matching wicker wingback chair across from the sofa with a light chuckle.

"What's funny?"

"Just thinking about another time we got stuck in a cramped space against our wills overnight," Stewie replies conversationally. "Over the course of a couple nights, actually. The bank vault incident. I don't know why that popped into my head, it just did."

Brian lets his mind travel back all that length of time to the event Stewie'd just relationship had really changed after that incident. The time they'd had to travel back from Palm Springs to Rhode Island using any means of conveyance at their disposal and getting into a few scrapes along the way had been the first important milestone in their friendship, as that trip had been responsible for founding it in the first place. But the couple of days spent in the bank vault some time afterward had been a real watershed experience for their relationship, there was no denying it. It hadn't been an entirely fun occurrence- there had been some bizarre, downright unpleasant shit that had gone down, but they _had_ had fun getting drunk together. Of course, the alcohol had also caused them to have one of the nastier arguments they'd ever had. They'd both said some pretty wounding things to one another. Stewie had been so good to him, though, the next morning, and all the tension from before in their confinement resolved itself in them really opening up to each other in important ways, and a new understanding springing up between them.

"At least you don't have to worry about me crapping my pants this time."

Brian grimaces. "I should hope not. If you do it this time, I'm throwing you out into the storm." He of course lacks the physical strength to do this, but nonetheless. A thought occurs to him. "You shouldn't really remember any of that. Most people's permanent memories haven't kicked in by the time they're infants," he says, smiling at Stewie in amusement. "You were apparently born with yours."

"Well, aren't you glad? Can you imagine if everything that happened back then, all of the stuff that we got into, was lost, irrevocably- for me, anyway- to the years?" The mere thought appearing to upset him.

_Stewie has certainly grown up with a certain tendency toward soppiness at times, hasn't he? _He should razz the kid about it, but he doesn't. Stewie's words had sent a brief wave of strange sentimentality through the dog, as well. However, as they proceed to sit up most of the night reminiscing about old times, he tries to steer the conversation toward the purely comical memories and away from the more heartfelt ones. They're dudes- they don't need to talk like that.

Stewie falls asleep first, long limbs akimbo, legs bent over one arm of the chair, dangling down so the feet almost graze the floor, his head resting in the chair's shoulder. The thought enters Brian's head that he might lie down on the floor beside the chair. A second later, he'd totally bewildered, wondering from where such a ridiculous, impulsive notion originated. He considers that he might at least wake the kid and offer to switch places with him, as Stewie would be far more comfortable on the sofa, and wake up with less aches and pains. He does not, however, and it's Brian who drifts off to sleep on that sofa after a short while.

**BREAK!**

"Stewie!" Lois exclaims when she comes downstairs in the morning to find her younger son at the breakfast table eating scrambled eggs with Brian. "What are you doing here so early in the morning?"

"Well, you see, Mother, I'm currently homeless," states Stewie, making his fork with a bit of egg on it twirl wide, cavalier circles in the air as he talks. "Susan and I have parted ways- and let the records show that I dumped _her_," he makes certain to get in there.

"What?" Lois gives a start and blinks at her son in surprise. "W-why? Well, this is rather unexpected, Stewie, considering that only last night you told us all that you wanted to marry her one day."

"Well, there was a revelation involved, and you know how _those_ can be: coming upon you all at once, unable to be denied and such. All very high drama." He speaks detachedly, his eyes cutting away, lashes fluttering, trivializing the whole thing effectively.

"What kind of revelation?" Lois asks, screwing up her brow.

"A momentous kind," replies Stewie dryly, staring her dead in the eye with disdain, maybe not so much an attempt to intimidate as an attempt to communicate that he means to be pretty damn tight-lipped about the details of his split with Suzie. Brian can tell that the kid is characteristically determined not to tell her any more than she strictly needs to know here.

Lois breaks eye contact with her son after a second and strolls on over to the coffeemaker and busies herself with brewing a fresh pot, seemingly respecting her son's wish not to talk about it, but if Brian knows Lois, she hasn't given up attempting to get the inside scoop on this breakup.

"Well, in any case, I'll be sorry not to see her around here so much anymore," she comments with a touch of wistfulness. "She was a kiss ass, but a mother appreciates a little of that from her children's partners. I thought you guys made a good couple. Even though-" she stops herself by biting her lip, but even as she checks herself, the guile isn't totally wiped from her features. There's something in her gaze that's mighty calculating, and Brian instantly guesses that she suspects the truth. She always has, as Stewie had noted, suspected her youngest child's true sexual proclivity, and she's pretty sure that the bust-up of his and Suzie's relationship probably had something to do with him being gay, but she wants to hear Stewie admit it.

While he, conversely, wants to hear her admit to the theory that he knows she's already pretty well convinced of. "'Even though'…"

"Well…"

She fails again, and Stewie pushes a cluster of wayward bangs out of his face with one hand and prompts her with a somewhat bitter, twisted little smile, "Even though…_what_, Mother?"

Lois chuckles a touch awkwardly. "Oh, just that if you ask me, she always seemed a little more into you than you were into her. I imagine that she's gotta be pretty crushed over the breakup, poor thing. And another thing that makes it so unfortunate that you guys are no longer together is that her parents are right next door, and we've always been such good friends with them. And, incidentally, Stewie, I would steer clear of Joe for awhile if I were you. Once he finds out you guys are no longer together…Well, you know how protective he is of Susan. He might be out for blood."

Stewie rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I ain't afraid of no gimps."

"_You_ don't appear to be heartbroken," Lois observes, looking shrewd again, although this time more subtly, probably intentionally. "In fact, you seem so much more…light than I've seen you in awhile."

"And why shouldn't I?" Stewie smiles. "I _feel_ so much lighter after losing 125 lbs of pure, undiluted bitch."

"Stewie!" Lois gasps, as Brian stifles a snort as best he can in his coffee mug. "Now, that's no way to talk about a nice, sweet girl like Susan, somebody that you dated for five months and supposedly cared deeply enough about to contemplate marrying!" she admonishes.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Stewie says blithely, blatantly insincerely. "I'd be all too happy to cease saying anything else insensitive by getting off the subject of my ex-girlfriend altogether. There are more pleasant things I'd rather concentrate on, such as what I'm going to do with my life, career-wise. I've been doing some soul-searching and-"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry, I'd love to listen to what you have in mind, but I've gotta go wake your father up so he's got time to get ready for _his_ job," Lois announces, getting up from her chair. She kisses Stewie atop the head, never minding the grumpy noise he produces in response. "And then I've got a million things to do today- lots of running here and there. Maybe we can talk later." On that note, she exits the room, and Stewie mutters hatefully under his breath that she can talk to his ass later.

"Why didn't you tell her why you broke up?"

Stewie shrugs. "Eh, you heard her, she's got places to go, things to do. And anyway, I'd rather wait and tell everybody all at once. Otherwise I'll just have to repeat the same story a bunch of times."

They spend the rest of the morning loafing around the house, doing the normal things they'd always done when they'd lived together in the past. The big thing was always watching T.V. and making smart-ass quips about whatever program happened to be on, and that's what they do today, as well. As two o'clock draws near, Stewie asks Brian come along and help him move his stuff out of Suzie's place. Naturally, not having anything better to do, the dog agrees, and off they go.

**BREAK!**

Stewie has run out to the car to load up the boxes they've already filled, leaving Brian in the apartment that until just last night had been the kid's residence. Suzie's friend Gretchen is out in the front room while Brian is in the master bedroom, trusted to adhere to the honor system and only pack up the items that Suzie has affixed with a sticker- ones that she must have acquired through her part-time job and all say **Better living through wrestling.**

The computer in the corner of the room does not have a sticker on it, but it does have a sticky note attached to its screen that Brian had read when he first came in:

_I'm fairly certain that you've made it your life's mission to humiliate me. I get it. You're gay. Did you purposely not close out of those windows just to rub it in? I did not need to see all the buffed-out, greasy, guys that you consider to be sexier than me, you bastard._

Brian place a couple of the trophies Stewie'd won back when he'd attended this teen motorsports camp- the distinguished vestiges of a hobby the kid had been very into from the ages of sixteen to eighteen- into a box and thus more or less fills it; very little else would be able to fit, so he tapes it shut. He grabs the one empty box that remains and casts his gaze about his surroundings for more stuff to pack.

It's a large, comfortable-looking square room, neat and tidy, containing the usual furnishings, and done up in a very conventional way with very little imposed on it in regard to individual style. There are a few pieces of art on the wall- banal department store prints of watercolor landscapes, mostly- along with a few pictures, but there used to be more. Brian knows this because there are marks on the walls where the sun has bleached around the frames, as well as a couple conspicuously empty-looking spots on a shelf over the bed.

Brian glances around some more and perceives a stack of what are probably the missing pictures, piled up on the bureau. Searching next for a way to access these, he takes the chair from computer desk and pushes it across the room and up to the tall chest of drawers. Then, mounting the chair, he is able to reach what is, in fact, a bunch of photos.

Two are framed, but most of them- the numerous ones on top of the stack- aren't. These are just portions of pictures, the portions with Stewie in them. There are way more here than would've been used for wall or shelf ornamentation. A good many must have come from photo albums, too. Brian gets a sudden vision of Suzie sitting up last night, crying, desolated, ripping every appearance of Stewie's visage in a photo away from the rest of the picture. Imagining this sad scene forces Brian to at least feel a little sympathy for her. She hadn't asked for this. All she'd wanted was to live out her dream romance with her schoolyard crush. She hadn't asked for him to be gay. But then again, she _had _been willfully ignorant. Hopefully the whole experience with Stewie will serve to be a lesson to her.

Moving on to the framed pics, he sees that one is a college graduation picture of Stewie's, the young man in cap and gown standing next to the Rhode Island College sign outside the school. The other features Stewie and Brian. It's a fairly recent photo, taken last summer, if Brian isn't mistaken, down by the pier at Clam Days. Stewie is laughing into the camera, a smudge of something on his nose, most likely cotton candy, judging by the treat the kid's holding, that Brian, hamming it up for the shot, is taking a playful bite of while Stewie's not looking.

He deposits the pictures in the final box and goes on to add to the cardboard container a number of books off a shelf, the last remaining objects in the room that have been tagged.

Finished with collecting Stewie's stuff from the bedroom- which means the packing is finished altogether- he straightens up and turns around.

"Ah!" exclaims Brian on doing so, finding himself looking at a man he's never seen before, standing feet from him.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry," says the stranger, smiling kindly. "I didn't mean to startle you. Hi, I'm Grant."

"Uh-" says Brian, with a reluctance to tell his own name to this unfamiliar man who has snuck up on him and seemingly arbitrarily decided to introduce himself. The guy is smiling so eagerly it's a bit unnerving…

"And you're Brian, I presume ? You're friends with Stewie? I'm his friend, too; I live in the building."

The man's name begins to stir Brian's memory, and then suddenly he recalls it being mentioned yesterday when he'd come to enlist Stewie's aid for the barbeque that never happened.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, sure. Hi. It's nice to meet you." He puts out his paw. "You're Gretchen's boyfriend, right?"

Grant shakes hands with the dog. "Why yes, that is one of my many roles in life," he chuckles.

Stewie waltzes into the room, dusting his hands together symbolically. "Okay, if you managed to finish up in here, Bri, we can get the hell outta this accursed place." Then he spots the man standing in the room with Brian and an odd, half-embarrassed look crosses his face. "Oh. Grant. Hey."

"Just thought I'd come down and tell you goodbye, since you're moving out," says Grant, the genial smile he'd worn while talking to Brian stretching wider as it rests now on Stewie and becoming something more than friendly. Grant's entire face also just lights up in general, and Brian realizes something. This guy is attracted to Stewie. Brian would be willing to stake a large sum of money on it.

"I don't know whether that's kind of you or not," Stewie murmurs, the purr of the coquette in his voice. "On the one hand, I can appreciate the well-manneredness of the gesture. On the other, 'saying goodbye' _could _imply that you don't plan on ever seeing me again. Makes me think you'd be all too happy to see the back of me." He flashes Grant a broad, saucy, suggestive grin, and Brian is made slightly uncomfortable by the sheer brazenness of the kid's flirtatiousness. "For my part, I'd intended on seeing _you_ again."

It would appear that the attraction is returned. Feeling a tad protective all of a sudden, as one would of their…what? Not son, most definitely not that. Kid brother? That wasn't right either. Notwithstanding the various times that Brian had been obliged to perform manny-like tasks for Stewie, their relationship has ever been too much one of equals. He'd more often than not felt as though he was contending with a genius adult with disabilities than a true baby. Besides which, Brian doesn't flatter himself that Stewie has ever looked up to him. No, what he is experiencing is a minor prickling of the sort of protectiveness one would feel towards just their buddy. Protective as one would feel when meeting a good buddy's new potential love interest. Though 'potential' at this stage may be too strong a word. Who knew if this man would ever get out of the theoretical love interest category and into that of actual suitor, seeing as this Grant character was currently still with someone else? Even so, Brian studies him with a greater focus.

He's tall, almost as tall as Stewie, and fair-haired with a chiseled jaw. The dog seems to remember that at least a couple of Stewie's high school flings had been similar in looks. Given that, even though Brian doesn't have any conclusive basis to decide that Stewie even has a 'type', for all he _does_ know Grant could be it. However, whether or not he is, he's got to be handsome enough for Stewie, anyway.

Grant's eyes sparkle and he starts to make a reply, but before he can, he is called out of the room by his girlfriend: "Grant, c'mere a minute, will ya, sweetums?"

Brian shows Stewie the note taped to the computer and the kid laughs heartily.

"Well, she wanted to have sex to consummate our pre-engagement, and I had to do _something _so I'd be able to perform!"

"Grant, um, I think has a bit crush on you," says Brian, unsure why he is bringing this up, especially since Stewie could not have neglected to notice as much for himself. "So, uh…what's his deal? Does he swing both ways, or is he in a situation like the one you just got out of?"

"The latter, I'm afraid," replies his companion, not laughing any longer. He looks hesitant, as though he is contemplating saying a little more, divulging a little something extra. "I, uh…I may have sorta boinked him yesterday afternoon before I met you in the car," Stewie owns. He then breaks out into laughter again. It is maybe slightly shamefaced, but at least five times more self-amused than that.

Brian gapes at him. The dog's mind is going into a slow whirl as it wraps around a couple of things, putting two and two together and not caring much for the result. This is why Stewie had taken so long to get to the car, and why he was in such a good mood when he did. He's quite piqued to learn that Stewie had cheated on his significant other and the dog can't really explain to himself to his own satisfaction why this piece of knowledge should set so ill with him.

"And an hour afterward you were insisting to me that sexual attraction is overrated in a relationship! You said what you had with Suzie was solid! Then, that same evening, you declared your intention of marrying her! What do you call that kind of behavior?"

"A last hurrah?" suggests Stewie with a wry smile.

"Stewie, you're awful."

"And this you're just finding out?"

**BREAK!**

Brian is in a pretty rotten mood the next day.

It had begun in the morning, when he awoke from having that damn dream again, the one with the graveyard and the exploding tombstone, and the wolf. Again, he was jarred from his slumbering just as the wolf was about to attack. He lay quite still for awhile in the cold sweat the nightmare had produced, the creepy, cold, apprehensive feeling from last time again upon him as he rolled over, pressed his face into the pillow and thought. He didn't remember yelling at the wolf to stay back this time in the dream, and he could only hope he hadn't cried out loud in reality, either. Where had this dream come from? He'd never had a recurring dream before, but he had a hunch that _this _one, that he'd just now had for a second time already, he would have again. As he tried to quell the lingering feelings of unease the dream had imparted on him, he considered. Perhaps he'd been too quick to dismiss it as not having anything important to say to him. Dreams came from your subconscious trying to tell you something, right? So to try to decode the allegories in his would be a logical endeavor, in accordance with science. It would not be like getting involved in any crackpot mysticism stuff. Although, if his hunch- probably illogical in and of itself- was right and this particular dream was going to become recurrent, that was probably because Brian had made it into a self-fulfilling prophecy by attaching too much significance to it. Oh, well. He'd try not to think about it anymore, and if he _did _wind up having it again, he'd seek out a book on dream interpretation and try to puzzle out the meanings behind those eerie, subconscious-inspired happenings in the cemetery.

He'd emerged from his room and stepped out into the hallway. He intended to head right downstairs, but hesitated as he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was as though something was telling he should wait. On high alert for something crucial to notice, he started glancing all around himself and up and down the hall until he happened to look toward Stewie's door and it all of a sudden came to him where he'd seen the little bear from his dream before. He almost couldn't believe that he hadn't known the stuffed toy immediately. Rupert, the most treasured of all Stewie's childhood toys. The dog used to see Stewie with the bear every day for the first several years of the kid's life. But he hadn't seen Rupert in all that time since then, and certainly hadn't been sparing him any thought. Why the hell would he be dreaming about his friend's old stuffed toy?

"Hey, Brian," said Peter, coming out of his and Lois's bedroom and giving Brian a quizzical look, plainly confused as to why the dog was just standing motionless in the hall, staring into space.

At that moment Brian had brushed off his strange, atypically superstitious mood. He smiled up at the overweight, bespectacled man, and spoke nonchalantly, "Morning, Peter."

"Whatcha doin' out here?"

"Oh, nothing."

The door behind Peter opened again, and Lois kind of stumbled out to join them in the corridor. Bleary-eyed and yawning, the morning had evidently come too soon for the harried housewife. She didn't question what they were doing out there, merely muttered groggily, "Oh, Brian…you're up, too. I'm going to head down and get the pancakes going. You may as well wake Stewie and send him down to breakfast, if you don't mind…?"

"Not at all, Lois."

Peter and Lois started down the stairs, and Brian pattered on over to Stewie's door. He knocked a couple of times and waited. There was no response, neither could his ultra perceptive canine ears detect any sounds of movement from within the room. He knocked again, louder, while calling in to him, "Stewie? Stewie, hey, time to get up! Lois is making breakfast!"

Still nothing. Brian opened the door a crack and peered inside, then pushed it all the way open and walked just over the threshold, surveying the whole room.

Stewie's bed was made. Either he'd had an earlier morning than everybody else, or a later night. Somehow Brian thought he knew which scenario was probably correct.

_Well…__**he**__ certainly isn't wasting any time... _

Brian backed out of the kid's room, closed the door, and went downstairs to breakfast.

While they sat around the table, Lois reminded Peter about buying new knobs for their dresser, asking him to go to the hardware store to buy replacements as soon as he was done eating.

"Whadaya talkin' about?" asked Peter, standing to take his dishes to the sink. On the way back he stopped behind Lois's chair. "I don't need to go all the way to the hardware store. I see some great knobs right here." Leaning over her, he tweaked her nipples through her shirt.

"Peter-" Lois had started to chide, hands making to pull Peter's fingers off of her tips. But then he did it again and a look of lusty approval crossed her face, and she simply placed them over his. She threw her head back and started giggling and groaning. "_Ohhhoho, yeah, _that's the stuff! _Ow! _Hurts so good! Twist 'em a little harder, now…"

The heat high in his cheeks, Brian spoke loudly and swiftly, hoping to pull the plug on this indecent and mortifying display: "Peter, do you mind if I tag along? I don't have any other plans for the day."

Peter and Lois's heads both snapped up and simultaneously they looked at Brian as though they'd forgotten he was there. Peter cleared his throat.

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Brian."

**BREAK!**

"Hi, I'm Holland. Is there anything I can help you with?"

A young saleswoman with short, dark, curls had flashed them a megawatt smile in welcome as Brian and Peter strolled into the furniture accoutrements section of the hardware store.

"Oh, a little Dutch girl, eh? Yeah, I got somethin' you can help me with: there's this question my friend, Quagmire, has about putting things in dykes-"

"Uh-" the salesgirl, doubtlessly surprised by Peter's inappropriateness, looked at a loss for words before settling on, "I don't think I actually _have_ any Dutch heritage."

"But, uh, are _you_ a lesbian?" Peter, to Brian's embarrassed chagrin, went on to ask. "I mean, you look like the lipstick variety if you are one, but why else would you be working in a hardware store?"

"Okay, you're a customer here, so I'm not going to call you out for your chauvinist ideas about what women should be doing for a living," said Holland stiffly. She's plainly concerned that Peter's going to be a problem customer, but she's trying to remain respectful. "Instead I'll just remark that working here isn't too bad. I enjoy it okay. But actually, I'm a writer. My uncle works at the _Shopper,_ and said he could get me on as their local politics reporter after the current one retires. But until then, I've gotta have a job to pay the bills- including medical bills for my poor puppy. She broke her poor little leg last week falling down some stairs." And whipping out her cellphone, she'd shown them a picture of a Pomeranian with one of her tiny hind limbs in a cast.

"Oh, my god, that's the cutest thing in the world!" Peter nearly squealed. "See, that's one of the bad things about ol' Brian still being around. We've had the same dog for years, so it's been a long time since we've gotten to switch things up and get a new breed to look at. And you know, he's so damn needy and jealous that having another dog in the same house as him is out of the question. Tried that before."

Ouch. Not the most callous thing Peter had ever uttered about him, but the barb still stung, nonetheless. Even after all these years and knowing how Peter could be, Brian was still always dismayed to be reminded of just what levels of inconsiderateness Peter was capable of.

"What? Oh, Brian, c'mon. You know I'm happy you haven't joined the bleedin' choir invisible. It's just variety being the spice of life and all that." He'd then turned back to consulting with the salesgirl, who gave Brian a sympathetic smile.

**BREAK!**

They returned home and as soon as they walked into the house, Lois, who had been sitting on the sofa, got up and walked over to Brian with her hand held out before her, holding in it a scrap of a paper.

"Brian," she said, as Peter passed by them into the kitchen, "here's a message for you." She had given him the piece of paper, in addition to a puzzled, slightly concerned look.

Interpreting that about her expression made Brian feel a hint of anxiety before lowering his eyes to the note she'd handed him to read what was scrawled on it.

_A Mr. Vandenberg called, stopped by your office in Seattle. Wanted to talk to you or your partner, Caleb, but neither of you was there. Said he later heard rumors that you had left town. Got this number from your secretary. Please call him. Important._

He'd known something like this was coming. He'd just assumed he'd have a _little _more time, a bit of a respite before the proverbial shit hit the fan. Clearly, not for the first time in his life, his assumptions had been proven false and foolish. Brian's blood pounded hard and fast in his ears and he felt mildly sick. Not wanting to show Lois, however, how discombobulated he was, he merely nodded as though the information he'd just obtained from this message was only a matter of course, and casually crumpled the paper up in his paw.

"Thanks, Lois," he had said with genuine-sounding courteousness, and started to move around her.

She thwarted him by stepping in front of him. "Brian, from what I understood from this Mr. Vandenberg, from what he was told by your secretary…your leaving Seattle was done rather abruptly and he worries there was, um…something underhanded in it. He told me that he was quite concerned that it was because…well, something had gone amiss with the journal that you don't want anyone to know about."

Brian's reaction to this had been to cover the distress he felt by expressing indignation. "Well, you don't agree with him, do you? I suppose I _am _allowed to come and go in the world as I like."

"Yes, especially if everything has already been settled with the magazine, like you told us, but Mr. Vandenberg-"

"Everything _has_ been settled with it. Do- do me and yourself a favor, Lois, okay, and don't get involved with this. It's your father who had the company and the business acumen, not you."

The woman of the Griffin house looks offended, but also somewhat chastened as she toys uncomfortably with the sleeve of her blouse. "I just thought I would let you know, Brian, so you could clear up whatever you need to with this man. It j-just made me wonder, once I heard that your cell phone number's now invalid, and how this man had to practically coerce your secretary into giving out this number. It sounded like you didn't want this person with a very vested interest in the journal getting ahold of you and I- "

"L-lois, let me just stop you right there. Ya- ya know, I can't say that I'm not- I'm not a _teensy _bit insulted that you would believe that I would- engage in …dishonest business practices, or whatever it is you suspect me of. Obviously there was just some, er, miscommunication between my secretary, Mallory, and myself. About what she was to tell people who stopped by the office looking for me. I-I'll tell you what I'm going to do: I'm going to go upstairs right now and give old Mr. Vandenberg a call back and explain everything to him." And Brian was let pass when he started again for the stairs.

He had paused when he was not far up them and asked, "Is Stewie home?"

Lois shook her head, her expression indicating she was yet somewhat irked with Brian. "Haven't seen him at all today."

Hardly knowing if he should feel more worried because possibly there'd been some horrible accident, or annoyed because the one person Brian could usually look to for solace wasn't around to give it to him, he'd fled upstairs to his room. Not to immediately ring up Vandenberg as he'd told Lois, god no. Before he even thought about doing something like that, he needed to conceive of some feasible cover story to feed the man. When he was in his room, he used his privacy at first to try and come up with such a thing. But no matter how hard he wracked his brain, no clever pretext to offer Vandenberg was forthcoming. He gave up and hurled himself atop his bed and lay there lamenting the sorry state of his affairs, and wishing Caleb dead.

Eventually, he fell into a fitful- if fortunately dreamless- sleep.

He wakes up and stays awake when he hears Stewie's voice in the hall, yelling something from the second story down to the first about clean socks and Lois calling back something inarticulate in response. The dog thus goes back to his conscious fretting.

So. Vandenberg, the DOA literary mag's top investor, had tracked Brian down in Quahog. Why had he stopped by the magazine offices today? Once there, it was quite easy to deduce how he'd been able to figure out that something was up (thanks in part to Mallory, wow, that girl really was an idiot. He would fire her if he could), but had he had any idea that something was "amiss", as Lois had put it, even before then? Of course Brian knows that that question is ultimately irrelevant. The material point is that he _had_, which means that it wouldn't be long until the others are onto him, too. The storm clouds were gathering, and soon they would be right outside his window.

He is still hanging out in his room, by turns restlessly steamed and catatonically sulky, when there comes a knock at his door. Mumbling all matter of bitter invective, he slides off the bed and wearing what he knows must be a quite dour countenance, throws open the door to see who has come to disturb his brooding.

It is Stewie, all decked out in a swanky suit and beaming at him from ear to ear. Naturally he has come to Brian when the dog is past wanting to unburden himself to him and now just wants to be left alone.

"What in the world?"

"I'm taking you out to dinner- come on, let's go celebrate!"

"Celebrate what?"

"I went back and interviewed again for that internship at that law office! And I got!" Stewie proudly declares. "We need to celebrate! I'll go downstairs and wait for you to spruce yourself up." He turns to walk away from Brian's door, but is stopped by a word from the dog.

"Stewie…" Brian sighs, rubbing at his temple, "look, I'm real pleased to hear about your accomplishment, okay, but I don't know if I feel like going out tonight. I'm not even all that hungry; I was thinking I'd just-"

"Well, you'd best think again!" says Stewie, imperiously, drawing himself up and speaking in a voice that brooks no opposition. "Damnit dog, don't you do it! Don't you rain on my parade like this! Today's been a really great day for me, and the only thing that could make it even better is toasting my success with my favorite person in the world! Now, you get yourself all fixed up nice and dapper, because we're going out!"

**BREAK!**

In the end, he's glad he went.

Even though, when Stewie had pulled into the parking lot of the establishment in which they were to dine, Brian had not initially been pleased to discover that they were at a Benihana place.

"I thought you were taking me somewhere nice!" he'd griped. It wasn't that Brian bore any particular grievances toward the tradition of Benihana. It was that such a place simply wasn't what he thought he needed that night. All that clatter of the elaborate knife-work, the cheap applause and the chef's lame jokes didn't sound like it'd be soothing to his fraught nerves. Also, not to sound racist, but dining in Asian restaurants always made him a little nervous.

"And what, do tell, is wrong with Benihana? I call it jolly good fun, and we could both use a little of that after what each of us has been through lately. If this place was any nicer, you'd have to put out."

Inside the restaurant, Stewie luckily doesn't force Brian to sit at the main, teppanyaki table and instead selects one of the tables in the background, along one of the walls. But while they are removed enough from the center of activity to be able to talk amongst themselves with little background distractions, it's not the right environment to broach a gravely serious and convoluted topic, so Brian again puts off confessing all to Stewie, even though time is running out. (Actually, to get technical about it, he can't really confess _all_, anyway. To let one word cross his lips regarding the _other _wrong that Caleb had done him was beyond unthinkable.) He will have the conversation with him soon, however; he has a wild, furtive hope that the kid might even be able to conceive of some stratagem to mitigate the damages. He holds onto this hope like someone who is drowning would a life preserver.

For the time being, they pursue more enjoyable avenues of conversation. Stewie's delightful company tonight, full of animated chatter about the internship he'll begin tomorrow. To start with, Brian is confused about it being at a law firm. ("A law firm? Why do you wanna work at a law firm? You're not looking to pass the Bar, are you?") Stewie replies no, that what he'll be doing there is a little legal research, and that after a year, one of the partners at the firm will arrange for him to work with this man's brother as a crime analyst, which is what the kid has recently decided he wants to be. Once Brian manages to temporarily put his own ordeals of his head, he starts to feel sincerely enthused for the kid, and is glad to see how Stewie is beginning to put his future in order in what seems to be a wise way. They make plans to go see a particular exhibition at the local art museum the following week, and between talking about this upcoming jaunt, Stewie's new career move, and discussing a book that they both just so happened to have recently read, the conversation is excellent.

"You really do seem like a new man," Brian remarks as they walk out the front door of the restaurant into the warm, starry night. Actually, the kid seems rather like the man the dog had known before they parted company back in December.

"Mm," Stewie murmurs, smiling over at him slyly. "Well, on top of the breakup and the internship, if there's something else putting a smile on my face and a spring in my step, it's this, which I'll share only with you: I had. The best. Sex last night."

Brian feels an odd twist in his stomach and tries to tell himself it's only the natural reaction of a straight man worried he might be about to be 'treated to' a series of lurid details about an instance of gay sex. "Hey, that's great. Right on," he says, striving not to sound disturbed. "So- so you've met somebody, then?"

"Pfft. Nobody important. He was just a one-off. Total himbo, and I don't care if I ever see him again. But I'm telling you, it feels really good to be back doing what comes naturally."

"It's not like it's been a long time since you were with a man, though," says Brian, puzzled when he feels that same flare of irritation he'd felt the other day when he'd heard about Stewie's illicit tryst while he was still with Susan. "It was only two days ago that you slept with that Grant guy from your apartment building."

"Yeah. But believe it or not, I did feel some guilt after that," says the kid as they stop at his car. "You know that superior memory of mine? Well, because of it, I can actually recall with decent clarity the days we spent playing in the sandbox together, and sure, my friendship with her was never on a par with what you and I have, and there was a period during high school where she more or less fell off my grid entirely, but Susan was my second-oldest friend, and I dislike very much that I had to hurt her."

Brian examines the young man's face, and finds suitable contrition there to validate the claim. He nods, to show he understands. Then, as though by unspoken agreement, they both climb in unison into the car, and Stewie starts the engine. Once they are out of the parking lot and on the road, he remarks, "I'm glad things are back to normal between us."

Brian looks at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

Stewie gives a sheepish, slightly crooked smile and briefly ducks his head, then brings it upright again, eyes fixed on the road. "I mean, we haven't really been _us_, you know, for awhile. Obviously there was the separation whilst I was attending college that kind of threw a spanner in the works, so to speak. And then when I first returned home, you were in Seattle. Then finally we were both home to stay, but as long as Susan was around, it really didn't help matters. She- she was wary of my spending too much time with you. Stupid, huh?" He laughs airily. "But now that we're both back in good ol' Quahog, and there's no woman trying to control my life, we're back to being the best of buddies. We're like this again." Holding up two fingers, one wrapped around the other.

_To be continued…_

**Thoughts?**


	6. Anyone for Doubles?

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

**Chapter Six: Anyone for Doubles? **

One afternoon a week later, Brian and Stewie are visiting the ice cream parlor, enjoying a couple of cones at an outside table while Stewie is on a break from his internship at the firm of Yung, Keene, and Wylde.

"Don't look now-" Stewie says in a hushed tone, leaning across toward Brian, keeping his head low, furtive laughter and a low level of anxiety mixed together in his eyes. "But there's this man behind you, across the street there, whom I met at Bottoms Up in West Quahog the night before last. I hooked up with him, and that part was fine, because we did it in the dark, right? But in the morning I found out what a freak he was. He had _his name shaved into his pubic hair_, can you believe?"

Unfortunately, Stewie had defeated his own purpose by prefacing this information with 'don't look now', because, ironically, that little caveat tripped a hardwired trigger to do the opposite. Without meaning to, Brian's head swivels around and he does, in fact, _look_, to see who Stewie is talking about. However, scarcely have his eyes locked on the person than there's a very sharp pull on his collar and he is back facing Stewie again, who thwacks Brian on the arm and hisses, "_I said not to look_!"

Stewie slides down a bit in his chair and rounds his shoulders in a classic effort to look smaller and more inconspicuous in case his one-night stand should happen to look over. "I _really _don't want him to notice me."

"Boy, I'll tell ya….," Brian does some quick math, "…I can hardly believe you've only been single for ten days and you've had almost that many tawdry little affairs- going by how many nights you've spent away from the house, anyway." Each of those in the bed of a different man Stewie'd encounter out at the types of watering holes and meeting places he'd previously declared to disdain. Brian would be lying if he said he didn't disapprove of the near-nightly game of musical mattresses his friend's been playing. Stewie hasn't been sleeping at home with the exception of that one evening he'd went to dinner with Brian- on that occasion, he'd returned to the Griffin homestead with the dog to lay his head down. Well, not _with_ Brian, not to lay it down with him. Just to sleep in his own bed. Stewie's bed, that is. Stewie in Stewie's bed.

Moving on.

It really isn't any of his business and after all, Stewie is young, at the age where such behavior should hardly be a surprise, a point that Brian himself had raised when he'd been talking to the kid about Stewie's peers only being out for one thing. Funny how things had changed just this short time later. Probably he should congratulate Stewie on being such a player. At the very least, he shouldn't take such a censorious attitude about it. Stewie _had_ been almost as bad in high school (and god only knows what he was doing in college). The only difference was during his high school years, he'd always find a way to make it back into his bedroom before dawn. But Brian had always known about the kid's sneaking out, and it used to only make him roll his eyes. There's no real reason why the kid's bed-hopping habit should bother him now, but weirdly, it does. Of course, Stewie's promiscuity spree, together with his internship, does mean the kid is hardly ever home, meaning Brian hasn't had time to talk to him about Seattle yet, so the dog chalks his annoyance up to that.

"I thought you took your little vacation from being gay because you only ever met men who were interested in meaningless flings and you were sick of that," Brian goes on, trying his best not to sound like _too_ much of a priss.

"I was…I _am _sick of it."

"Are you trying to be the gay Quagmire or something?"

Stewie pulls a repulsed face. "God, no. I'm just trying to have a little fun, Bri, while I'm waiting for The One. And who's to say one of these flings of mine won't start out meaningless and turn into a very real and satisfying long-term relationship?"

"And you're- you're _safe_ every time you hook up with one of these guys?" Brian, ignoring the very good point Stewie's just made, inquires. He winces as the words leave his mouth. Why is he doing this? Why is he giving the kid such a hard time about his active sex life? Sure, it would be a comfort to know that Stewie is protecting himself during his multiple casual liaisons, but he isn't trying to parent Stewie here.

"_Yes, Mom_," Stewie answers sarcastically, seeming to have psychically sensed Brian's train of thought. They each frown reprovingly at the other until Stewie's attention is caught by something off to the side of his vision.

Brian follows his companion's gaze to a young man coming their way down the sidewalk, out for a run. In teeny tiny jogging shorts, no less. Brian watches the man catch eyes with Stewie, who gives Jogging Guy a wink. A seductive smile grows on his target's face in response. Keeping his eyes locked with the jogger's, Stewie proceeds to drag his tongue around his dripping vanilla cone slowly, luxuriating in his task. When some of the ice cream gets onto his finger, he lifts the digit to his mouth and pops it in, sucking it clean in an egregiously obscene manner.

Brian is borderline horrified, sitting in stupefied silence, looking anywhere but at Stewie's pornographic treatment of the ice cream cone. Will there be any living with Stewie now, since he's so fully embracing singledom, and his apparent renewed comfort in his sexuality?

He only looks back at Stewie when he hears hysterical laughter. It seems Jogging Guy, so transfixed by Stewie's lewd little performance, hadn't watched where he was going and "ran right into a lamppost!" Stewie tells the dog between peals of laughter. Brian looks and Jogging Guy's on the ground.

"You're disgusting," Brian informs his friend. He's not talking about Stewie's sadistic sense of humor, and somehow Stewie knows this.

"Brian, clearly _you_ need to get laid," the kid opines in a languid voice, toying with a napkin, doing some sort of origami with it. He seems to be trying to make it into a flower.

The dog momentarily glares at his companion, but Stewie's remark isn't nearly so successful in provoking anger as it is a faintly gloomy feeling. His friend is right. Brian can't remember the last time he'd had a good romp in the sack- or, actually, _any_ romp in the sack, period. In a way it's by choice, but the reason behind why he's made that choice is none too cheery a one.

Stewie continues to fold and twist the napkin. "There…_is_ a chap I'm interested in dating seriously, but he's…not really an option. There's too much standing in the way of our being together- namely, that he would first have to reconcile himself to dating someone of the same gender, which he's not exactly used to."

Brian feels a tremor ghost through the center of his chest area, and he stares at Stewie for a moment. His friend stares right back, and Brian hears some words of Stewie's from ten days ago sounding in his mind: "_the only lasting relationship I've been able to sustain with a guy has been with you._"

"Grant. From Susan's apartment building? I think he's just the sort of man who would suit me. He's got precisely the right personality to balance mine- he's level-headed and has just such a positive world view and his cheerful disposition is really infectious. Also, it doesn't hurt that he's a stone-cold fox."

"Oh, him? Really? Yeah, he's good-looking, I'll give you that, but you're right, he _is _unavailable right now. And don't you think that if he wanted out of his relationship with Gretchen he'd _get_ out?"

"He only just fully realized he was that way inclined, you know?" Stewie retorts energetically, vehemently coming Grant's defense. "It's hard for him, because he was raised in this fundamentalist Christian family that had him believing homosexuality was a mortal sin. He's been repressing his true desires since he was old enough to have them. He's only ever dated women, and, as far as his parents regarded it, he did all the right things growing up. Very active in the church, wore a purity ring in high school- which you'd think would be a dead giveaway, but nonetheless- and seemed to have fully adopted his parent's ultra-conservative ideology. He even campaigned against gay rights. To put it shortly, he's managed to put on an excellent front for all of his life. His mother and father trust him so much that when he moved in with Gretchen, he even managed to convince them that they weren't sleeping together. Which is such a lie: that's practically all they do together in their shared bed- sleep." Stewie raises himself up onto his knees so that he's kneeling on his chair. Leaning forward, he grabs loosely onto Brian's collar, and, winding the paper stem around the leather strip a few times, works on affixing his creation to it. "But it can't go on forever. Sooner or later, something gotta give, like it did with me. 'Course, Grant has no Brian to force him to see reason." He smirks and arches a brow.

Brian shakes his head. "Your love life is needlessly complicated of your own device. All I ever wanted was someone passionate and smart to share my life with." He reaches up and fingers a petal of the paper flower aimlessly.

"No, that's _not_ all you ever wanted, Brian!" says Stewie sharply, startling the dog.

Puzzled, Brian asks slowly, "What did I want, then?"

Stewie, out of nowhere, has acquired a somewhat skittish air and lets out a chuckle that's a little higher-pitched than usual. "The hell if I know! I suppose what I meant by that is it's just outrageous to pretend you've never had any absurd, self-defeating criteria to determine whether someone was dateable. Oh, but look at the time- I have to be back at the office in five minutes." He jumps to his feet. "I'd better skedaddle. 'Bye, Bri!"

**BREAK!**

Brian has now had the dream a total of five times.

The last three times, the beginning, Wizard of Oz part, along with the long fall to earth, had been shaved off, and the dream had begun with Brian lying atop his mother's grave. But while the length of the dreams may have lately lessened, the vividness of them had only increased. He swore the earthquake had been more intense these last few times, swore he could feel chunks of the headstone rapping him on the head as it blew to bits above him, feel just how soft Rupert is as his paw closes around him…just before he both hears and smells the wolf. Just last night he'd awakened sobbing, humiliatingly enough, although at least he was doing it quietly, and having palpitations and feeling nauseous.

He's now all but convinced that his dream has meaning. He may not understand much of that meaning, but he's close to positive that the wolf is either a stand-in for Caleb, or the law, or both.

Brian never did return Vandenberg's call, though he'd contacted Mallory and given her some instructions the day after his poor, ill-fated journal's chief investor had rung the Griffin house. He could only hope that she hadn't bungled them. He'd hired her for her pretty face and hot body, and perhaps because he was feeling nostalgic that day, for the many dim women he'd loved and lost And then it'd turned out she already had a boyfriend, rendering her really no good to him at all. Anyway, he took care to give her easy to understand, plainspoken directives about what she was to do. He'd then had her repeat them back to him, and she's done so accurately. She was to phone Vandenberg and inform him that Caleb had a beloved aunt who was dying of cancer, so he'd gone home to be with her and other members of his family (he loathes himself for propping up Caleb's lie, even though perpetuating that falsehood is really a mere side effect of what the dog's aiming to effect. Brian's really lying for his own benefit). He was so distraught he'd asked not to be contacted about business matters at this time. Meanwhile, Brian himself had gone to do some research in Quahog for an upcoming feature, but was fully available to talk business (he could think up no plausible-sounding reason why he should not be); Mallory had simply misunderstood his orders before- that's why she'd hesitated in giving out the number.

Brian has no way of knowing how much Vandenberg had swallowed of this story- all he knows is the man had yet to ring 41 Spooner Street a second time.

_That has to be a good sign…right?_

It has occurred to him multiple times that perhaps he should try to track Caleb down himself, go to wherever he is and confront him face-to-face. With that thought comes another familiar one, the reminder that he wouldn't know where to start. Besides, what could he possibly say to Caleb to get him to give the money back? And for taking such an action, for seeking him out, who knew what Caleb would do him to? There's no denying it, at least to himself: Brian is afraid of the man, plain and simple.

Of course, what had been his chief motivator for beating a hasty retreat to Quahog was confiding all of this to Stewie, and finding out if his genius young friend might know of some way to save him from complete ruin. But with Stewie at his internship during the day, and partying hearty and crashing at random dudes' houses at night, Brian just hasn't been able to find the right opportunity yet.

Brian doesn't know what to do about anything anymore. Didn't he _used_ to know what to do about stuff? He used to be so sensible.

Theday after the trip to the ice cream parlor, Brian is sitting watching T.V. when Stewie comes hurtling into the front room from outside. He turns partially around and strains a bit to glance over the sofa's back at the young man, and sees that he has excitement written all over his face.

"Oh, Brian, Brian! I have _such_ news."

He is graced with only the flattest of looks from the dog, who continues regarding him with a half-lidded lethargy over the back of the couch, but the young man is not discouraged.

"Guess what?"

Brian still directs a disinterested expression at his friend. "I'm no good at guessing games. Why don't you just tell me."

"Grant and Gretchen have called it quits!" Stewie announces joyfully, and comes capering over to the front of the couch and drops down next to Brian, making the cushions bounce.

Brian's first thought is a wry, _what'd you do to make __**that**__ happen, Stewie?_

"I just came from his place," Stewie states, doing nothing to quash Brian's suspicions. "We're going out tomorrow night! Isn't it grand?" He giggles like a giddy schoolgirl. "Oh, Brian, I'm _sooo_ nervous! I've never gone out without a guy I've liked this much before! I almost fear being alone with him. I just know I won't know how to behave, so I'll try to compensate for my lack of any other kind of confidence with bedroom confidence: I'll ruin everything by sleeping with him too early!"

Stewie sits there, fidgeting and pouting and fretting and Brian ignores him in favor of the T.V.

A couple of minutes pass before Stewie speaks again, his tone crafty. "I'd be able to relax so much better if we had another couple to double with. It would be more relaxed that way, more casual, less sexually charged. You ought to go out and find a girl you could take out to dinner with he and I. I meant what I said yesterday; you really _do_ need to get laid. Then you wouldn't be so grumpy."

Although he's been feeling mighty forlorn, Brian didn't think he'd been letting it show. He's surprised to hear Stewie say that his behavior has been grumpy. Miffed with both himself for being transparent, and Stewie for bringing it up, Brian rises from the couch.

"I'll tell you what I need. I think I need to be someplace else right now."

**BREAK!**

Brian is at the mall to buy a book.

This would not be an unusual event, were it not for the type of book he's searching for today- one for dream analysis.

As he skulks his way as inconspicuously (knowing all the while that his paranoia is unwarranted: who would be watching- let alone giving a shit- what he's doing?) as he can toward the appropriate section of the store, he spots a woman sitting at a table, heaped upon which is a large assortment of paranormal-themed books, and things like tarot cards and supposedly magical crystals and pendants. The standees on either side of the table urge shoppers to stop and **"Meet Renowned Mystic Edelmira Firethorn!"**

Brian snickers, filled with amusement and disdain by the over-the-top, fantastical name. He bypasses her and keeps moving onward with his head tucked down until he's well into the New Age section, where he quickly surveys the shelves for a suitable book to address his needs. He picks up the two longest ones, as they have the greatest likelihood of including interpretations for everything that happens in his recurring dream. But he doesn't want to spend more than he has to, so from these two he selects the cheapest. He walks out from amongst the rows of books and is about to pass the mystic's table again. This time, she addresses him.

"Hello."

Automatically, without meaning to, he acknowledges her greeting. "Hi."

"And what's your name?"

_Why the hell's it to you, ya kook?_

"Mooncloud McSorcerer," Brian replies, straight-faced and looking at her dead-on, as he comes to a full stop in front of her table.

The woman's eyes narrow slightly; she's gauged that he's making fun of her, possibly judging at once that he is a skeptic who doesn't exactly hold purported mystics in high esteem. "Well, Mr. McSorcerer, a good day to you. May I offer you a complimentary palm reading?"

"Ah ha ha…Um, no, no, I don't think so. With all due respect, I don't really go in for all this stuff." He gestures around at the mountains of New Age-type paraphernalia surrounding her.

"Hmm…" She leans forward in her chair, squinting. Peering at the cover of the book Brian's holding. "So it would seem."

He stiffens, defensive. "This- this is different. We're talking about my own subconscious, my own mind, trying to tell me something. It's a scientific fact that there's mental activity going on in our minds that we're not aware of, that can influence-"

She ignores this reasoning and interrupts him with the question, "Is there a particular dream that you'd like to decipher?"

Brian hesitates. His initial impulse is to rebuff her, but he curbs that impulse. Seeing as he's buying this book, he might as well get a second opinion. A bit reluctantly he says, "It involves a wolf and a cemetery."

Edelmira scoffs. "The wolf is the easy part," she says in an isn't-it-obvious voice. She half-smiles at him patronizingly. "Couldn't you have worked out for yourself what that would mean? Any type of predator…" she trails off. "It would appear that you have an enemy or enemies, and may well be facing a hostile encounter in your near future, Mr. McSorcerer."

Brian can feel himself scowling at her. He knows he should just laugh it off, but how can he, when all she's done is give an opinion that agrees with what he was already thinking the dream could be trying to tell him? He _does _have people in his life who would do him harm, who _have_ done him harm, and it's only a matter of time before some sort of terrible confrontation takes place, so therefore her interpretation actually seems pretty logical.

"However, to dream of a cemetery suggests that you will conquer all things!" she goes on, and Brian is, absurdly, automatically a little cheered, and has to remind himself to take these claims with a grain of salt, at the least. He's always been a most rational canine, and he's not about to stop being one now.

"Though," says Edamame or whatever he name is, Firethorn musingly, "if you dream of a particular grave, the meaning is changed. A grave is a sign that you will receive news from afar."

While Brian's standing there listening to the mystic, out of the corner of his eye he notices an attractive woman emerge from between two rows of books in the fiction section about twenty feet to his right. He knows her. He's seen her before, when he was at Woody's Hardware with Peter. He strives to come up with a name, knowing that the young woman had introduced herself that day. He thinks it starts with an 'H'.

_Hannah? Heidi? Holly? Hayden? Holland. Yes, that's it. Holland from the hardware store. _

She looks so pretty today…Not that he hadn't thought her pretty when he first saw her at Woody's, but today, looking so relaxed, carefree, and jaunty on what must be her day off, swinging across the store in a sweet rosebud print blouse and a pair of jeans that really flatter her fantastic ass...

"The grave of your father, for instance…" Edelmira's voice suddenly penetrates his thoughts, recalling him back to reality, and the fact that he'd been in the middle of a consultation or whatever with this reality-challenged woman. Distracted as he'd been, it was a moment before he processed what she'd just said, but once he did, he immediately began an internal mini freak-out. But he _had _been dreaming of his father's grave!What were the odds? A slight chill creeps along his back.

"Yeah?" he urges, for a moment captivated.

"It can mean inheritance."

"Inheritance? From my father?" Brian lets out a bark of laughter. "Fat chance. What the hell would he ever leave me- a map showing every place he'd ever buried a bone? While that'd be nice to have, he wasn't anthropomorphic, so I'm reasonably sure he never contacted a lawyer to help him make a will, nor a cartographer to make a map. And he wouldn't have been able to write up the will or draw the map himself with no thumbs. So it looks like I'll never know where those bones are buried anymore than I know where _he_ is. Excuse me." And with that he makes his admittedly somewhat rude getaway, dashing toward the checkout and Holland, and getting behind her in line.

He clears his throat, hoping that might be enough to make her turn around. It isn't. He tries again, a little louder, but still- no dice. So he gives up the subtle approach, relents, and taps her on the shoulder. She turns, surprised. Then-

"Oh, hi!" she says, smiling sunnily like she had back in the hardware store. "We've met before, haven't we, only I can't seem to place where…"

"Well, not formally," Brian acknowledges. "My friend, Peter, and I were in Woody's Hardware last week. He was, uh, acting up a bit. Hi, my name's Brian Griffin."

"Oh, yeah," she says, the incident obviously coming back to her. "Yeah, I remember perfectly now." A tiny hesitation before asking, cautiously teasing, as though she fears being seen as impolite, "Is he always like that?"

"I'm afraid so," Brian confirms gravely. "Oftentimes, he's even worse. So…whatcha getting?" He does his best to study the book in her hands, but she's got her fingers over the title. He reaches out to delicately brush them aside, and she surrenders the book to him. Taking it from her, he sees that it is a book of short stories by Fyodor Dostoevsky.

"Oh, he's great- a writer that'll really make you think," Brian observes, nodding appreciatively. "Good choice, good choice." He holds the book in both his paws and cracking it open, skims through it, coming to a stop on a random page. Glancing down, he just narrowly contains the gasp that wants to escape his throat as he reads the passage his eyes first land on:

_Dreams seemed to be spurred on not by reason but by desire, not by the head but by the heart, and yet what clever tricks my reason has played sometimes in my dreams, what utterly incomprehensible things happen to it! _

"Thank you," says Holland, Brian's momentary unsettledness having escaped her notice. She extends a hand and reclaims her soon-to-be-purchase. "And how about you? What are you getting?"

Quick as a wink, she snatches the dream book out of the still-rattled dog's grip and reads the title.

"_Forecasts for Dreamland_?" she asks, handing the book back to him.

He pulls it against his chest, feeling fairly ridiculous.

But Holland only shrugs and remarks in a totally nonjudgmental way, "Sounds interesting." Two cashiers at the long counter in front of them then become free, and she goes to one, and Brian to the other.

They complete their purchases at the same time, and they walk out of the store together, into the main portion of the mall.

"Well, it was a pleasure seeing you again, Brian, and talking with you…"

"Um…before you go-" He hesitates, but with her expression she encourages him to go on.

He hadn't left the house giving any consideration to Stewie's suggestion that he find a girl to bring with him out on a double date with the kid and Grant. But now that a lovely young lady has presented herself…

He feels a slight nervousness come upon him, but he pushes it down and takes a shot: "My friend's got this date tomorrow night and ya see, he'd kinda nervous about it, and he mentioned that he'd be less so if they could get another couple to double with them. I'd love to oblige- you know, as a favor to my friend." Girls find it so cute when guys are there for each other, so long as it doesn't turn into a 'bros before hoes' type of philosophy where a man is there for his buddy at the expense of treating his woman well. "The only thing is, I don't have anybody to bring…"

Holland's lip twitches. "Oh, dear me…"

"Yeah. So I was wondering…would _you _happen to be interested in accompanying me out to dinner with my friend and his date?"

She stands there, smiling faintly, but seems a little uncertain, and Brian, waiting for her to decide, is in mild agony, experiencing the familiar wavering of his self-esteem. Finally, she relieves his worry by letting her smile bloom and replying, "Yeah, sure. Sounds like fun, Brian."

Brian breathes easy, cracks a grin. "Okay, great!"

Holland takes a moment to root through her purse. Her hand resurfaces clutching a pen and scrap of paper. She proceeds to write down her number for him. "Call me tonight, and let me know the details, when you'll pick me up and where we're going."

"Will do," says Brian, still grinning largely. Then, belatedly, a horrid possibility strikes him. He doesn't want to believe Holland capable of being a bigot, but just for prudence's sake, he'd better make sure.

"I think I should just mention…my friend is gay, by the way. That won't be an issue at all, will it? That the couple we'll be going out with consists of two men? "

"Oh, no, definitely not," Holland readily assures him. "It won't bother me in the least. Why would it? God, I can't stand people like that who discriminate against others and persecute them just for being who they are."

"Good, good. Yeah, I know, I hate them, too." Brian breathes a small sigh of relief, glad that he's not been given the answer that would oblige him to think unfavorably of this exquisite young woman whom he's actually excited to be having a date with tomorrow night.

**BREAK! **

The evening before them has all the makings of a great one: Brian is out on a date with the first promising candidate he's had in a very long time indeed for the position of his girlfriend. Holland sits crossways from Brian, looking fetching in a one-shoulder top and a skirt that ends just above the knee, an outfit that reveals just enough to make him crave seeing more.

They've been at the restaurant, just chatting amiably for about ten minutes when Stewie and Grant make their entrance. Brian hasn't really been giving any regard to Stewie's clothing recently, but the kid's outfit tonight gets Brian reflecting and realizing that his friend is starting to dress with panache again, after attiring himself in emphatically-in-no-way-flashy garb during his Suzie era. There was the stodgy business suit he'd been wearing the day Brian arrived in Quahog from Seattle, and a subsequent series of very heterosexual cargo pants and grubby, baggy T's. This return to fashionableness is much better.

They all exchange cordial hellos, the newcomers are introduced to Holland, and then Stewie and Grant sit, and the double date commences.

A waiter shows up, and Stewie, who has the wine list, orders, "a bottle of the house red, please." As the waiter takes himself off with a little bow, Stewie addresses the group in general: "I never did take the time to learn about libations, for whatever reason. My massive storehouse of knowledge encompasses a panoply of subjects, but somehow I never did add much about adult drinks to it."

Stewie's date smiles at him indulgently, and then, seeingthe waiter stopped at a nearby table, calls him back and requests a bottle of some unpronounceable vintage instead.

Stewie makes a big show of being impressed, while Brian finds himself questioning whether Grant acted properly in changing the drink order just so he could show off, and is a little peeved that he did so unilaterally, without consulting anyone else at the table, including Stewie, who might just as easily have been turned off by Grant's move as charmed by it. The wine he's just ordered is bound to be more expensive than the house wine, so he hopes this Grant intends to pay. It strikes Brian dully in the back of his mind that this is new, and kind of odd, that he cares. In the past, he never would have worried about Stewie possibly getting financially taken advantage of by a date, he just would've laughed at the kid for being silly enough to allow it to happen.

"So…Holland," says Stewie, "Brian tells me you work at a hardware store."

She nods. "For the time being. But my passion in life is writing, and I look forward to when I get to be paid to do what I love."

"Volatile profession," Stewie observes. He cuts his gaze over to Brian as he does so.

Holland chuckles easily. "Yes, it is. Definitely. But I'm lucky enough to have a relative employed at the _Shopper_, and he's vowed to hook me up with a job there soon. Go nepotism!" she cheers, tongue firmly in cheek.

"So…other hobbies? What's your sign? If you were a tree, what kind would you be? Do you have any siblings? Phobias? Diseases? You want kids?" Stewie unleashes a string of rapid-fire questions Holland's way.

Without missing a beat, Holland rattles off, just as speedily, "Playing the trumpet and knitting. Aquarius. Peach tree," she smirks saucily, thrusts out her chest and shakes her 'peaches'. God, she's sexy. "One brother. I'm pretty afraid of spiders. No diseases, and as for kids: possibly, but not for awhile."

"Brian is a wonder with children."

Brian can't tell if Stewie's being sarcastic or not with that last comment, but since the bothersome kid is giving Brian's date the third degree, the dog decides to interrogate Grant some.

"What about you, Grant? What sort of line of work are you in? Does it pay enough to keep Stewie in designer clothes and diamond-studded nipple clamps?"

Stewie casts the dog a dark look of warning, which Brian instantly dismisses.

"Uh, actually at the moment, I'm unemployed," Grant admits, pulling on his mock turtleneck in embarrassment.

Brian frowns, thinking of the wine. He starts to say something, only to have Stewie anticipate him, and say to the dog while giving him a harsh look, "As are you."

At that moment, what is at risk of turning into a slightly tense atmosphere is luckily diffused when two waiters appear, bearing the foursome's food. No sooner have they placed each meal before the appropriate person and walked off than Brian is eying the broccoli on Stewie's plate. He knows the drill. He reaches over and scoops it by the spoonful onto his own plate while at the same time, Stewie unceremoniously brings the white bean succotash alongside the dog's sirloin tips over to be an accompaniment to his own ziti parmesan instead.

Now Brian's ready to begin eating, but just as he picks up his knife and fork, he hears Holland giggling.

"Who's on a date with whom?"

Brian glances up at her, then over to Stewie, who looks back at him blankly. They then both look at Holland, who keeps on smiling mirthfully.

Brian explains, feeling heat in his cheeks, "Well, see, Stewie hates broccoli, always has, so whenever we go out to eat together, it's just kinda been our understanding for years that whenever broccoli comes with an entrée he's ordered, I'll just exchange it with whatever I have for a vegetable."

"That's adorable." Holland grins.

Both Brian and Stewie let out tiny, self-conscious laughs.

Grant places his arm along the back of Stewie's chair and leans in close to him, and they fall into a conversation about how they both own every season of _Dynasty_.

They look good together: the light head of hair beside the darker one (to get technical about Stewie's hair color, the kid has told him before that it's a hue called auburn, but of course Brian has no idea what that means); the contrast between the strong, well-defined features and planes of Grant's face and Stewie's much softer ones; and Grant's broader, athletic frame juxtaposed with Stewie's willowy build.

Stewie crosses his legs, which calls Brian's attention to them, clad in a pair of well-tailored, pinstripe slacks- how they are thin but shapely, the curves of them almost feminine.

The two couples then finish their meals in comparative silence, with most of the little talking there is occurring inclusively within each pair. As Brian grows very close to having cleaned all the food off his plate, he happens to look over to see both Grant and Stewie lay down their dining utensils. Grant starts to move in, and Stewie meets him halfway, leans forward, and molds his lips to Grant's.

Brian's never seen Stewie kiss a guy before. It's not like watching him kiss Suzie. That was strange to behold for obvious reasons, Now he's a spectator to Stewie sharing a romantic kiss with someone, and that's just as strange. He involuntarily stares, transfixed by, brief as it is, how involved his friend is in the kiss, how he almost glows as he kisses his date, how he smiles against Grant's lips. The two men break apart after a moment, and Stewie glances with bright eyes back at his other dinner companions. Brian feels itchy in his own skin all of a sudden and has to turn his head away.

"It was nice meeting you, Holland. And Brian- I'll see you back at home." The kid's mouth is suddenly very close to Brian's ear, and the canine tenses. He doesn't dare turn his head to look at his friend; if Brian's lucky, their noses will bump or brush, and if he's unlucky, well, there'll likely be another same-sex kiss at this table. "Maybe not until tomorrow, though, huh?" the kid says as he elbows the dog. Feeling the air shift as the kid withdraws slightly, Brian finally looks back at Stewie, just in time to see him wag his head toward Holland, who fortunately is studying a painting on the wall of the restaurant, and so misses the gesture.

Stewie and Grant then leave the table.

"I didn't need to see that," Brian mutters, in reference to the kiss, and for no particular reason. He doesn't feel that there was anything distasteful about it, and it's not as if he's never seen two people of the same gender kissing before. Even if he hadn't had a gay cousin, he's a dog of the world. He's been around- not that he would have to have been around too far, as the world is so much more accepting toward gays even than it was twenty years, so such PDA's are becoming more and more of a commonplace occurrence in a variety of settings. It was just a kiss, and yet Brian…well- there's no other word for it- he _hates _that he saw it. He is left literally scratching his head to determine why.

"I thought it was kinda hot, actually." Holland owns, smirking at him provocatively, as though looking forward to the squirming she expects the comment to cause.

Brian doesn't disappoint; he knows the involuntary look he's giving her is one that says she's quite perverse. Holland laughs.

"Yeah, what can I say, I'm one of _those_ women. Guy-on-guy sort of does it for me. But you know what? Every straight guy is into lesbians, and that's just taken as the established norm."

The dog scrunches his nose, then slowly abandons the disturbed expression and shakes his head. "That's okay. Be into what you're into, I guess. I just find it off-putting to see Stewie…being…uh, affectionate like that with _anyone_. I've known him since he was born, after all!"

"Oh. I gotcha."

Brian is feeling a bit oddly, and Holland's charitable little smile isn't helping matters. Hoping that she hasn't read anything further into his excuse, he changes the subject.

"Well…desert, then, and after that we'll call it a night?"

She agrees.

**BREAK!**

Brian and Holland are in his car in the parking lot outside the restaurant, making out rather enthusiastically. Brian runs the digits of one paw through her hair, while the other paw rests on her waist. How he's missed this. It's been far too long since he's been this close to another human being, held a warm, supple body in his arms, and kissed a pair of lips that are soft like rose petals.

As they continue to kiss, he allows this second one to travel upward and the side of her breast.

"Brian…_Brian!"_ Holland pulls back from their kiss, giggling, and manages to extricate herself from their embrace, much to the dog's disappointment. He's feeling so desperate that he's fighting the instinct to let his tongue hang out of his mouth while he pants in desire for her. She, on the other hand, looks almost completely cool, calm, and collected. "Brian, I'm going to give you a choice. You can come back with me to my place-"

"Mm. That one. I choose that one," Brian answers huskily without a moment's hesitation. He lunges back in and nuzzles her neck for a second, then goes for her lips once again, grabbing onto her shoulders and urging her towards him, but she resists.

"Really? You don't want to hear what the other option is?" she inquiries, pulling down the hem of her skirt, which had been migrating north, and shifting in her seat, putting even more of a distance between herself and the dog. She faces away from him and looks out the window.

"What? Well, I'd rather not take you back to mine. Don't get the wrong idea, it's just I live with a bunch of other people and they always get real nosy about who I have spending the night-"

"Brian." Holland turns back to him and inches close again. He reaches for her, but she grabs his arms and lowers them down to his sides, then takes his face in her hands. "I was going to say that, yes, we can have sex tonight if you like, but I'm afraid if that happens, we can never see each other again. No- listen, and listen well. We can have one night together and that's it. We can't associate with each other anymore. Or…we can end the night right here and be friends, I think, for the rest of our lives." She lets go of his face.

Brian is dumbfounded. "I- I'm sorry, I don't- I don't follow. What _exactly_ are you trying to say to me? I'm one-night stand material, but not relationship material?"

"Now you know how many of us girls have felt when given a similar line; just count yourself lucky that I didn't wait until the morning to tell you I didn't want a relationship," says his lovely tease of a date, lip curling upward. "But, in all seriousness- no, Brian, that's _not_ what I'm trying to say to you. Basically why I'm giving you this choice is because I can tell- I'm pretty good at this sort of thing- that we won't be compatible as a couple, but we will be as friends. I like you, Brian, but I already know that you and I would never work out. So rather than try our hands at something futile and maybe end up hating each other when it's over, I'm being quite honest about what I can give you: either one night of erotic fun, or…very possibly, a lifetime of platonic fun."

"I've never heard such bullshit," Brian grumbles, far from mollified. "I'm sorry, but I call B.S. on that one. I mean, I appreciate that you put a little effort into it, I appreciate the inventiveness, but that has got to be one of the most bogus excuses I've ever heard for rejecting somebody."

"Well, then how about a classic?" Her voice trembles just a bit, and her eyes have taken on an unmistakable tinge of sadness. "I'm still in love with my ex. I'm simply not ready to give up on him, so I can't enter into a relationship with anyone else."

"Oh." This is an excuse he can accept- for a few seconds, anyway. He knows what it's like to be devastated by a breakup, but he's never come out of one believing that there was no one out there for him but the one who broke his heart. "But maybe that's not the best thing for you," he proposes. "Things had to have ended with you and him for a reason. And how do you know _for sure _that you guys are going to get back together? There's no guarantee that'll happen, right? Yeah, there's a chance that someday he might come crawling on his knees to you, begging for you back, but in the meantime, you might as well date and have some fun. Give some other guy a chance. Maybe he'll be someone you like being with as much as you did your old boyfriend, and you won't want your ex anymore."

"Brian…I'm sure you're a wonderful guy. But you could be the most wonderful guy in the world, and I could still never feel for you as strongly as I do for my ex. He's my soul mate. That may sound sappy and naïve, and you might even be pretty mad at me right now, but no matter what, you're not going to change how I think and feel about this."

She looks beautiful in her tragedy, so earnest and passionate. But rather than move him toward sympathizing with her situation, it only makes him want her more. So, he'll still be taking what's behind door number one, thank you very much. It's disappointing that she doesn't want anything more from him, and he doesn't particularly care for one-night stands, but she's worked him up into an uncomfortable state. Afterward he can feel pathetic and cheap and empty, but for the time being, his rocks need to get _off!_

_Does she really expect me to give up sex for friendship? I have enough friends! Well, okay, so I don't have all that many, but enough! I hardly even know her! What makes her assume I'd even __**want**__ her never-ending friendship? I mean, get over yourself, lady! _

"Look, I'm not trying to be crass, but honestly," he begins tetchily, not able to hold back on expressing his frustrated resentment, "do you think any guy's going to turn down the offer of sex just so he can gain the friendship of this random chick he barely knows?"

"Well, then," Holland replies, lips pursed angrily, but eyes cold and flat, and voice calm, "I rescind both offers. There's no possible way I'd even think about sleeping with you now, and I sure as hell don't want to be friends, either." Her hand is on the door handle, and she's about to exit the vehicle.

He starts to grab her arm, but her head snaps around and the look she shoots him is glacial, but also a trifle on guard- and he doesn't want to give the impression of aggression, so he pulls his paw back. Even though he's still annoyed and sexually frustrated, why should he act like such a jerk to her? She seems like a good person, and up until five minutes ago, they'd been getting along great. Sure, she'd led him on, but still, she probably doesn't deserve to be treated like this.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the ice melts a little from her façade.

He's not going to be so ungentlemanly as to make her walk or take a cab back to her place simply because he didn't get what he wanted out of this date. Hell, it was still better than most he'd had in his life!

"I'll take you home."

**BREAK!**

In the upstairs hallway he runs into Stewie, dressed for bed, and making his way back from the restroom.

"Oh, hello, Brian," the young man says with surprise in his voice. He looks far over the dog's head and down the hall. "No Holland?"

"No Holland."

Stewie's eyebrows shoot upward. "Well. That's something. You guys were really clicking. I thought for sure…But maybe you decided to follow in Grant's and my lead and take things slowly…?"

"I don't think we'll be going out again, actually."

"I'm sorry, dude." Stewie lays a hand fleeting on Brian's shoulder.

Brian feigns merely laughing off the kid's display of sympathy. "Hey, it's okay. I'll survive," he responds unconcernedly. "And what about you? After you and Grant left the restaurant that way, I was sure you were off to break your resolution, but…" He brushes past Stewie toward his friend's bedroom, the kid following behind. Brian opens the door, flips on the light, and sticks his head in to make sure. "…it looks like you stayed strong. Good for you."

Stewie chuckles. "But of course. I have a will of iron! I mean…I really do want it to be special." He rubs self-consciously at his forearm as a painfully schmaltzy smile contorts his lips. Then he shakes his moment of near-swooning and his features take on their more oft-seen look of smugness. "It was quite a chore to get him to say goodnight to me without any nookie, but when the time finally comes, I think he'll find I was worth the wait." He smirks.

"Hope it all goes well for you," Brian mutters. "Goodnight, Stewie."

Before he can shuffle off, though, Stewie stops him with the question, "Are you very tired, B-rye?"

He isn't, but the night hasn't been really a raging success for him. Going to his room to sulk sounds immensely appealing right about now. However, the current seriousness of the young man's expression ultimately has Brian's curiosity getting the better of him. "I suppose not. Why?"

Stewie sidles over a couple of steps, into his bedroom. "Can you come in here and talk with me for a bit?"

Brian raises his brows and steps into the room, too.

There's nowhere to sit but on the bed, so the dog plants himself on the end of it.

Stewie closes the door and leans on it slightly, gazing across the room at Brian.

"We need to talk damage control."

Brian gazes at him from a quizzical angle, not understanding what the kid's referring to. "How do you mean?"

Stewie lets out a noise of impatient disbelief.

"Because of your thieving scumbag of a partner who left you high and dry! We can't let him win! We can't let that be the end of your career! I know how hard you've worked all these years! It's been a long time since you were the hack writer who only produced dreck filled with clichés and hokum and who was willing to write anything that would sell. Lately, you've been doing work that is both meaningful to you and also art that many have enjoyed. I know there'll probably still be those in your literati set who'll be annoyed at you, even though it wasn't your fault, and other people in general might see you as an idiot. Still, there's gotta be away for you to monopolize on the victim card."

Stewie deposits himself on the bed at Brian's side. The dog gulps, and adjusts his posture, pulling one leg up and crossing it over the other, as if sitting informally, like he's at ease, will, in fact, _make_ him feel more at ease with the conversation ahead.

It doesn't work. There's still a seasick-like motion going on in his head.

"St-Stewie, here's the thing. I appreciate you trying to help me with this and all, I really do, but staging a career comeback is not the thing that's highest up on my list right now. It would be nice, but it'll have to come way after seeing if I can wade my way out of the deep legal doo-doo I'm probably due to be up to my neck in any day now."

Stewie peers at him in perplexity. "Why the dickens would you be in any legal trouble? The police don't think you were in on Caleb's plan, do they? You haven't been in contact with him since he disappeared, and there's nothing to indicate otherwise, right?"

"Well…the police…" Brian flinches, knowing that he's in for it now, that Stewie's going to really chew him out for this, and truly, what he's about to say _will_ sound absolutely asinine. "The police aren't exactly involved yet."

Now Stewie looks baffled, as if Brian's latest words had been spoken in a language the young man doesn't understand. Then, understanding dawns, his eyes are screaming murder, and his mouth hangs open in helpless incredulity. When he regains control of it he splutters out, "_B-B-Brian! _You complete and utter _imbecile! _You didn't call the police? What the hell were you thinking?"

Brian hurries to make his best attempt at a summary of just what had gone down,. "Well, at first I didn't know a crime had even been committed. Caleb told me he needed to go out of town for awhile, because his aunt had terminal cancer and he wanted to be with her at the end. And then he was gone longer than he said he would be, so I tried to call him, but his cell phone number was no longer active. That made me more worried that something had happened to him than anything else, but I didn't know what to do about it. I tried emailing him, but he never responded. A few days later, on a whim, I checked our bank account, and he'd forged my name and withdrawn all the money." He pauses and sucks in a large breath, filling his lungs. "And after that- after that, I- I guess I didn't want to believe it, or I was in shock or something. I pretty much just totally shutdown, went into seclusion at my condo, unable to do anything, including pursue legal action. It was j-just…too much on top of all the other stress I'd already been dealing with. I knew how much hinged on our literary journal being a success, and I-I…I just couldn't handle the idea that there'd been this destructive event that made that impossible."

It is about as paltry an excuse as could be conceived of, and judging by the look, that Stewie bestows on him (suggesting Brian needs masses of mental help) this explanation of his canine friend's actions has not made the kid one iota more understanding.

"Of course now they're going to think you're in on this con!" he cries furiously. "You should have told _me_ all of this straightaway, as well. Ideally as soon as you'd figured out that Caleb had screwed you over, although I guess I understand if you wanted to wait until you saw me in person. But you've been back in Quahog for, like, two weeks now! For crying out loud, Brian, why do you let things fester like this? This whole mess has to have been eating you up inside, and besides _that_ result from not confiding in me about this sooner, you just might have done yourself _more_ harm by losing me valuable time I could've spent helping you!"

Brian's pretty positive the exasperation on his own face about matches that on Stewie's. He's very tense at the moment. He finds himself ridiculously wishing that Stewie wasn't so very much…_there. _The strength of whatever the kid feels- in this case, angry and overwhelmed- always just radiates from him_. _Always fills the room. Always heightens the drama. Stewie's emotions are almost too much to deal with in tandem his own.

And does the kid _have _to sit so close to him?

"I know, I know I fucked up, alright?" Brian shouts. "Even, _you_, Stewie, could never rake me over the coals as exhaustively as I've already done to myself. I- "

But Stewie cuts him off by literally shushing him, by making that sound and putting a finger to Brian's lips. The kid's expression is wholly gentle now.

"We'll think of something. I promise you that much. Nobody does you wrong and gets away with it on my watch."

He takes his finger away from Brian's mouth, lowering his hand to the bed and taking up Brian's paw. He squeezes it firmly once and then continues to hold onto it securely. The dog's paw lays lax in Stewie's hand, but Brian _does_ keep it there, though for just a split second he wonders if this is quite…alright, sitting on a man's bed, holding his hand. He wonders about the sanity of it. _Stop that_, he tells himself sternly. _This is __**Stewie**__._ His friend for more than the past two decades. Stewie may be gay, and may have had, at one point, ages ago, feelings for the family dog, but it's not as though Stewie has any devices on Brian now. This is innocent. Utterly. Just like the time they'd fallen asleep in the car his first night back in town, spooning. It might be a slightly unorthodox way for a grown male to be there for another. However, it's innocent. Though unorthodox. Brian can't even imagine Peter, for example, holding his hand to comfort him. Then again, Peter just isn't a very sensitive person.

"Are we still going to the Impressionism exhibit tomorrow night?"

Stewie blinks, the question- be it from the content of it, or from the abrupt change in topic- evidently taking him by surprise. He nods. "Yes, Brian. Why wouldn't we be?"

"Well, I just thought maybe, since you have a boyfriendnow-"

"I'm going with you. That's still the plan."

_To be continued…_


	7. Hard Times

**Hello, everybody, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I'm so sorry for that immensely long hold-up in posting chapters. I originally meant to update **_**Love Admissions, Part Two**_** before this one, as that is the one that seems to be most popular in-progress story. However, with much **_**much**_** respect to everybody else's preferences, I've consistently found **_**Entre Nous **_**to be the easier of the two fics to write: it has been from the beginning. **_**Love Admissions, **_**will****, however, be updated- hopefully soon- so, all of you who remain interested in that fic, please hang tight! **

**If you're still following along, first of all, I thank you from my heart for your loyalty. Second of all, I'd love it if you'd leave me a review to let me know what's going right and/or wrong. **

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

**Chapter Seven: Hard Times**

The morning begins for Brian easily, with his eyelids lifting on a quiet, sunny midmorning, after a restful, dreamless sleep. He is curled up at the foot of Stewie's bed, where he'd laid down to go to sleep last night, following his and Stewie's little talk, and the movie they'd watched after it on Stewie's television. There's no sign of the kid now, but it being Saturday morning, Brian knows that Stewie's likely somewhere around the house. With that thought in mind, the dog gives a great stretch, rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and climbs off the bed.

He doesn't come across him anywhere in the upstairs hall, though, crossing the living room he doesn't meet the young man, either.

In the kitchen, Meg is standing all alone, wearing her uniform for McBurgertown, where she'd recently found her summer job, manning the fryer. She is crying softly to herself, into her hands, trying to self-soothe by rocking herself back and forth on the balls of her feet.

With some trepidation, Brian asks with as much compassion as he can muster, "What's wrong, Meg?"

She peeps at him through her fingers, eyes swollen, their expression woefully dispirited. "Everything! As usual!" she wails.

"Uh…huh." He ought to have known she was going to be melodramatic about this, but _she, _in turn, ought to have grown of out such behavior by now. He can't help her unless she lets him help her. "Well, care to cite one problem in particular? Maybe whichever's the most pressing?"

"Mom won't lend me money for a new transmission for my car! I'm totally without a vehicle now! Can't she see how difficult that's going to make life for me? Or is that the point? She's hurting her grandson, too, by doing this!" And with that, she broke down into great, heaving sobs.

"Oh, Meg," Brian sighs, and then frowns, not certain how to go on. He lets the silence go on instead, which proves to be a mistake when Meg stops crying into her hands and stares with her tear-stained face down at Brian, eyes clearly telegraphing her anger.

"Of course you don't care, either!" she shrieks, stomping her foot. "I should've known. I should know better than to expect compassion from _anyone_ in this family."

How Brian dislikes these kinds of scenes. First of all, he's the one out of all the family who consistently treats Meg with the most humanity, so it's frustrating to hear himself being lumped in with the rest of them like that.

"Don't be silly, Meg, of course I care. I just don't really know what to say. I know you have a lot to deal with in your life, and being a single mother can't be easy." He thinks on it for a moment, carefully considering whether or he's just said anything that could get twisted with her in her current mindset and make him incur her wrath. Thinking he might have come up with something, he hastily adds, "Not that you don't do a great job of it, of course."

Meg looks at him, seemingly a little calmer. She brushes her fingers across her eyes, drying them, then Brian tries not to cringe as she uses her shirt sleeve to wipe her nose. After a moment he asks,

"Hey, would you happen to know where Stewie's at?"

"He's not here. I don't know where he is, but his car's not outside." She takes a deep breath as if to compose herself and walks toward the side door that leads out of the kitchen and into the driveway. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go catch the bus so I can go to work."

"Have a nice day," says Brian feebly, with a thin sort of smile, hoping Meg won't take his wish for her day as sarcasm and go off on him again.

Her response is merely to sigh tiredly.

"Yeah, sure. That'll happen."

She puts her hand on the doorknob, but before she can let herself out, Brian stops her by saying, "I'll talk to your parents. I promise. It might not work, but I'll do what I can to make them see your situation a little more clearly."

Meg looks skeptical, but at the same time as though she wants to be hopeful. She gradually gives a tiny smile. "Thank you, Brian." She waves to him and leaves out the kitchen door.

Brian groans and pulls up a chair at the table. He lets his hands fall into his paws as he massages his temples for a moment. What a way to start the morning. He begins to ponder what he wants for breakfast, and thinks of possibly going out and grabbing some of the fast food variety, but then he remembers there's something he ought to do since he's the only one in the house and makes a run back upstairs to his room.

Minutes later, he returns downstairs and sits himself down on the couch with _Forecasts for Dreamland_. Brian cracks the book open and begins to look things up.

The first things from his dream that he references the meaning of are 'wolves' and 'graves'. The book gives him the same interpretations the psychic at the mall did. Including the part about dreaming about the grave of one's father indicating the receiving of an inheritance from him. That explanation still doesn't make any sense whatsoever to Brian, and he finds himself subjected to a small feeling of disappointment. He'd hoped that maybe this book would harbor an interpretation of his dad's grave that he could actually _use_. Brian had spent tons of time over the course of his life analyzing his issues involving his mother, but he's spared very little time trying to garner insight on what his father - or, more aptly, not knowing his father- has meant to the course of his life. But, of course, even if it had said something that could be taken as useful to him, that wouldn't make it true. _Grain of salt_, he reminds himself like back in the bookstore. _Scratch that: enough salt that I get heart problems_.

There's nothing about what dreaming of your mother's grave foretells, so he moves on "earthquake".

**Earthquake: Usually signals many troubles ahead. However, they will be possible to overcome.**

Brian is again subject to a slight pang of disappointment. He's annoyed with himself by how much he wants to find something to trust in this book. The "troubles" referred to here could be the day-to-day variety that everybody has to deal with. By neglecting to be more specific about the types and severity of the "troubles" dream earthquakes supposedly foretell of, Brian is forced to regard this book with more incredulity than he already did. It seems like a shyster move, to put in an interpretation that could fit anybody. The "troubles" could be everything from buying the wrong brand of coffee for the break room at work to having one's startup magazine be bled dry, professional reputation ruined, and status as a non-inmate threatened by a con of a business partner.

**Flowers: One of the most fortunate dreams having to do with nature. It foretells that there is the potential for great happiness on the road ahead for you in your waking life. This is, unless you refuse the flowers in the dream, in which case you will suffer strong disappointment and unhappiness due to your own carelessness.**

Brian thought about it. He hadn't exactly _refused_ the flowers; that was because they hadn't been really given to him, had they? They'd appeared beside him, when his father's headstone had split open. That didn't mean they were _for_ him. So he hadn't picked them up or anything…that wasn't a bad omen, was it?

The topic of "teddy bear" isn't included in the book, but he does find:

**Bear: You will face fierce competition in your business pursuits.**

and

**Toy: Can indicate that you will meet new friends. Also can be a sign that your family that will gain a lot of success through their cleverness.**

He's not really sure, if he combined the two meanings, that of toy and that of bear, what sort of an interpretation he's left with, or even if he's "allowed" to combine them. Maybe that's not how it works.

He decides to look up components from the start of the dream- even though it _hasn't_ the start of the dream for awhile. Still, Brian has a whim that the original opening from what has become a recurring dream might be important.

…as important as any of this other garbage he's already looked up is; which was to say, not very.

**Bicycle: You will have an important decision to make. Proceed carefully.**

Snorting a little, he returns to his thoughts about how, since this book is so careful about not mentioning _types_ of problems and _types_ of decisions, they are conveniently much less likely to be wrong. It's a bit of a downer, that he keeps getting forced to award this book so little credibility, but on the other hand, when that happens, it also makes him feel smarter, makes him feel more like himself, more like the true skeptic that he is.

He finds the color 'white' listed under the topic of 'colors', remembering how he'd been in a place made up of nothing but a vast white space the first time he'd had his dream.

**White: A most fortunate color. Represents a favorable outcome in your dealings with others, such as business dealings. **

Brian smiles slightly; then, he freezes, ears perking up. He hears what sounds like somebody on the doorstep, and next, the rattling of the doorknob.

Brian has just shoved the book under a couch cushion when Lois enters the house. Brian knows that she has been next door, at the Swansons', having coffee with Bonnie.

"Hey, heya, Lois!"

"Hi, Brian," she says, almost snickering the greeting. "You know, the rumor mill's been working overtime over you. I wonder if you wouldn't mind clearing something up?"

A shot of cold goes through the dog's stomach. After that phone call Mr. Vandenberg had made to the house, and just in light of the whole scandal he's embroiled in in general, he can't help but be paranoid about she might've heard. "W-what?"

"Brian," says Lois, obviously trying hard to stifle laughter, "Brian, y-you're not…" (snicker, choke) "…having an-an…" (breaking off into a giggle fit that lasts a good ten or fifteen seconds) "affair with Stewie, are you?" And as she just succeeds in choking out that sentence, she is immediately doubled over in hysterical laughter.

Brian stares at her, taken aback. "No!" he exclaims. "'An affair with Stewie'? What the hell are you talking about?" Though no sooner is he done speaking than he realizes that he already knows where this rumor must have come from.

"Some absolute nonsense I got from Bonnie," Lois gasps out, recovering from her attack of laughter in increments as she forces herself to take deep breaths and calm down. "She said Susan finally broke down and told her and Joe that things went kaput with her and Stewie because she believes you and my son have feelings for each other, and also because she found you two together in a compromising position after that family dinner at the pizza parlor."

"Oh, _that. _She completely misconstrued what was going on. Stewie and I were just clowning around, and she took it the wrong way because…well, there was a lot wrong in their relationship, and she saw what she expected to."

Lois frowns thoughtfully. "For my part, I've often thought that you and Stewie are a bit too-"

"Lois!" Brian interjects, gasping, shocked beyond measure. "Y-you couldn't honestly-"

"Oh, gracious no, not like that!" Lois snorts. "It just…occasionally it's seemed like there's kind of a codependency thing going on."

The canine does not care for this assessment of their relationship.

"There's nothing…wrong or weird about our friendship. We're close, yeah. W-well, you know, I _did_ do a lot of helping you and Peter out with taking care of him when he was young. I've known him his entire life, so of course there's gonna be a bond there. And as he's grown up, it's hardly surprising that we'd be more and more able to relate to each other, have more and more in common..." he catches his voice growing thoughtful and finds that he could go into his own private, reflective mode so easily here, so before his thoughts start to stray too much off topic, he brings himself back to the task of defending himself against this ludicrous codependency charge. "There are a couple of big things we don't have in common, areas in our lives where we're not alike _at all_-"

Lois looks cunning as she abruptly cuts him off.

"You said Susan saw what she expected to?"

Brian mentally scolds himself, realizing that he's fucked up. "Did I? Well…I stand by that statement. Suzie could tell that Stewie wasn't- like you said awhile ago- as into her as she was him. I suppose she couldn't help looking for anything that confirmed what she was already so paranoid about, and then she found something that _seemed_ to."

"Brian," Lois's eyes lock on him, and her gaze is inescapable when it's like that- not harsh, but still more demanding than coaxing. It's one that only a mother could perfect, and that any mother would be wise to. "Stewie _is _gay, isn't he?"

Hoping that the real answer to that question isn't written on his face, he answers without _really_ answering. "Lois…what makes you think I know any more than you do? I think you'd better get your information right from the source."

"I don't want to pressure him," Lois objects, and Brian is relieved to hear that; if she must handle the situation badly, he supposes her talking about her son behind his back is better than trying to force a confession from Stewie directly.

He nods his head in understanding

"Well, I think that's for the best." He pauses. "The truth always has a tendency to come out, anyway." Then he winces to himself at what he just said, at the semi-unfortunate choice of the phrase 'come out'. Also, it occurs to him as an afterthought that there isn't just a double meaning in the phrase he's just used; there's a triple one. He himself is hiding a secret, as well, and Lois has shown signs of suspecting as much. In his own case, he'd give almost anything for the truth _never_ to come out, but knows that harboring such hopes are futile.

"Mm," Lois murmurs quietly, making a face before shaking her head dismissively and beginning to walk out of the room.

"So, uh, hey, Lois, before you go-"

She stops and looks back at him.

"I promised Meg I'd talk to you for her…"

Lois sighs exasperatedly. "I've had about enough of the way she's acting. Like a spoiled brat. She's thirty-nine and she expects her parents to bail her out of trouble all the time? Brian, Peter and I are not about to give her that money. We don't really _have it_ to give, first of all, but I can't say that I'd be all that happy to give her the money, anyway, even if we _could_ spare it. I keep waiting for Meg to stand on her own, and she just doesn't. She's made practically nothing but poor choices in her adult life, much worse than the ones she made as a kid, when she just chose not to wax her mustache, lose weight, or buy any Clearasil cream or cool clothes. But if I could get her a new transmission, Brian, I would. Heck, I'd buy her a whole new car if that was possible. Better than continuing to sink dollars into that pile of scrap metal she currently has. But there's just no money for any of it right now, plain and simple. There's just not enough disposable income left with the check Peter gets every week to give it to Meg, and Peter and I are using what little extra money we- or I, more accurately- have managed to save away over the years for our retirement, and that's final. A-and we're not exactly retiring to the South of France, you know? We just don't want to spend out golden years living in poverty. Is that too much to ask?"

"No, Lois, your predicament is totally understandable, of course," Brian concedes. "I just think, that, well, _maybe_…since not having a car that runs is such a hardship to Meg, _something _could be worked out so that-"

"Well, then, Brian, _you_ loan Meg the money," Lois cuts in somewhat acidly. "And by 'loan', I mean 'give', because she'll never pay it back. But that might be okay for you, since you have, or will have, all this money coming in from your little magazine."

Lois glides by him and into the kitchen.

Brian heaves a sigh and slumps on the sofa. Given the conversation he's just had with Lois, he lets his mind travel back to the day when he'd become the first and only member of the Griffin family to whom Stewie had come out. The kid had been fifteen years old, and Brian was back to living in the Griffin house after having been gone for almost six months trying to make it as traveling musician and trying to make it with his one female bandmate, who in the end had said she just wanted to be friends.

He was sitting on the sofa that day, too, when he heard footfalls on the stairs…

_He turns his head to see Stewie descending the stairs, brow knitted and looking abstracted and somewhat distraught._

"_Hey," Brian says lazily, forcing himself to go through the rigmarole of acting like a caring friend despite the fact that he;s still fighting off the remnants of the hangover he'd gotten the night before. "Something wrong?"_

_Stewie fixes him with a wide-eyed, vulnerable stare, but is silent until he's made his way down the stairs and over to the sofa, where he stands directly over Brian, gazing intently and making the canine increasingly uncomfortable. _

"_Uh, hey, there, buddy, you're breathing a bit hard there, is everything-"_

"_Come with me."_

"_Alri-" Brian doesn't get the full word out of his mouth before Stewie surprises him by taking a firm hold of his collar. And then yanking him off the couch and starting to pull him across the floor. Brian yelps, and the kid relinquishes his grip. The dog is still choking a little bit, so for the next few moments is only capable of reproaching the teen with a watery-eyed glare. Stewie looks reasonably apologetic and this time grabs the dog by his wrist. Brian makes a noise of disgust at being handled so roughly, but resigns himself to merely grumbling under his breath about it as Stewie pulls him - not so hard once he realizes that Brian isn't struggling- up the stairs and to his room. _

_Once he's shut the door behind them, he releases the dog's wrist. Brian pulls it protectively in close to his body and rubs it soothingly, while glaring at Stewie resentfully._

"_Jesus Christ, Stewie, what're you doing?"_

_Stewie doesn't reply for the longest time. He walks away from Brian, his strife deliberate and slow, his clasped hands behind his back and his expression unreadable. Brian's gaze follows the young man's progress…or lack thereof, as his steps proceed across the width of the room and then back again. A few times, Stewie stops in his tracks, appears to consider something, and then evidently changes his mind about what he wants to say and resumes walking back and forth. _

This is ridiculous, _Brian thinks. A snide remark is on the tip of his tongue for being kept waiting so long; and he's got half a mind to just get up and walk out of the room, but for some reason, he neither speaks nor leaves. _

"_Brian, I need to tell you something."_

_Brian huffs loudly in offense. _

"_You couldn't have just said as much?"_

_Stewie ceases his pacing and stands across from the dog, his hands falling down by his side and balling into fists of resolve. "This is information that is confidential in the strictest sense of the word." _

_Brian is a little worried now. This is Stewie, after all; his secret could be anything._

_Stewie walks over to the bed and drops down beside his friend. Brian turns toward him as he waits for Stewie to divulge this enormous secret. It's many moments more in coming as Brian watches the kid's face closely but in unable to deduce a thing. At last, Stewie looks away from him as he mutters, "Brian, I'm gay." _

_A large stream of air, leaving him in the form of a sigh of relief, escapes Brian's lips. He'd been concerned that Stewie really had an emergency on his hands or something. Now he has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes and saying something incredibly insensitive at what he realizes is a watershed moment for his close friend that is long overdue. It would truly be an asshole move to say or do anything to diminish it. As annoying as it might be that he's being obliged to treat a moment where Stewie's only stating the obvious with such reverence, it's undeniably a very positive thing that the kid finally feels ready to be open and honest and to start living his truth._

_Brian needs to handle this just right._

"_Okay."_

_Stewie's eyes widen slightly as he apparently struggles to comprehend the brevity of Brian's response. "O- 'okay'? Is that all you have to say about it?" He sounds almost angry._

_Brian doesn't get it. "Well, what would you have me say? I already knew that you were. I've known for a very, __**very**__ long time now."_

_Stewie scoffs, but it's exceptionally half-hearted. The dog wonders if those are tears that he sees in his friend's eyes, but the kid blinks, and all traces of whatever Brian saw or thought he did are gone when Stewie reopens his eyes. If they had been tears, were they of relief or regret? Judging by the glum set of Stewie's jaw, Brian would bet on the latter. The canine is confused over why the kid should find his reassuringly low key reaction upsetting. _

"_I just don't know what kind of a reaction you were expecting," says Brian softly._

_Stewie sits in a stony silence that the dog is at a loss to understand. For what must be several minutes, the young man neither speaks nor moves, and Brian wants so much to do one of the two, at least- he feels absurdly awkward just sitting here and doing nothing and not knowing whether Stewie would prefer him to stay or go. He knows one thing, however. This talk of theirs has got to end on a positive note. In order for that to happen, though, he'd better figure out what's eating the kid._

"_You didn't…you didn't think I'd, like…turn against you, did you?" Brian is hurt by this idea, deeply, as it forms in his head as a possible reason for Stewie's odd behavior. "Stewie, you should know me better than that!" He slides over closer to his teenage friend and places a paw on the kid's leg in a gesture of comfort. "I'll stick by you, and the rest of the family will, too. You should know that you have nothing to worry about from us. And there's nothing with being that way. Be proud in who you are, Stewie."_

_Stewie nods, expression solemn. After a moment, he cracks a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Brian, I- I know. You're right, of course." He gives his companion a soft, unexplainable look as he shifts away from Brian, dislodging the dog's paw from its spot on his thigh. _

_The kid doesn't seem to entirely mean it when he tells Brian, "You always know just the right thing to say…"_

The door swings open again, and this time it heralds the arrival of Stewie. He's wearing sweatpants and a wife beater. He's got pit stains the size of Texas, but that doesn't call out Brian's notice as much as the kid's arms and shoulders do. They're not jacked, but they're in nice shape, and more toned than they were the last time Brian'd seen them bared, which was probably back when Stewie swam competitively for James Woods High's team.

"Oh, hey, Brian," Stewie says, looking a little self-conscious upon noticing his friend sitting there. He roots around in the duffel bag he's toting and pulls out a towel, which he uses to dab behind his neck. "I've just come from the gym."

"Um, hi." Brian utters in a monotone, shaking himself out of his trance and telling himself to stop being weird. "The gym?"

"Yeah huh. You know, that place with all the exercise equipment and weights and what not?" Stewie smirks at him teasingly. "I woke up early this morning. I had some aggression I needed to work out."

Brian is about to ask him what caused him to feel so full of agression that he was forced to go burn it off in a gym, but that's before a notion flashes into his mind of what the kid was likely to have been so worked up about. The implications make him feel so touched that he also feels immensely awkward.

Stewie flops on the couch beside him and reaches across Brian's lap to grab the T.V. remote that is laying on the cushion on the other side of the dog. He turns on the T.V., where Ryan Seacrest, who even after ten years, still seems out of place as the host of _The Jerry Springer Show_, is telling a man named Devon that "You ARE the father!"

Brian suddenly wonders something.

"Hey, did Meg ever say who Wyatt's father is?"

Stewie shakes his head. "No." Grinning, he inquires teasingly, "Why? Is it you?"

Brian makes a noisy gagging sound. He is about to fire off some appropriately sarcastic remark when at just that moment, the phone on the end table beside the couch starts to ring.

Brian checks the caller id and the backs away from the device as though it was a bomb threatening to blow up in his face.

"Oh holy shit, it's- it's Mr. Vandenberg!"

"Let me talk to him." Stewie proceeds decisively toward the end table, arm outstretched, sending Brian into a panic.

"Stewie, don't, for god's sake- !"

"Mr. Vandenberg?"

Brian collapses limply onto the couch, staring up at Stewie in horror.

"I'm the assistant he hired while he's in Quahog." Stewie is disguising his voice, and something about the way he is currently speaking seems to give Brian a mini jolt back to some unknown place in time. The voice that Stewie puts on is feminine, still British-sounding, and has a squeaky, ninny-ish quality about it. And yet Brian…can't help but find something alluring about it that he can't define, just as he can't remember when last he heard it, although he's all but positive he has before.

Stewie is still talking:

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Griffin is presently unavailable…Well, yes, I am aware, sir, that he told you he would be if _you_ needed to talk to him. However, he is out at the moment, conducting interviews with, uh, The, um, Quahog Society for Literary Excellence. Are you sure I can't just pass on a message?…yes… Oh, sure I can recommend that he get in touch with those advertisers…You know what, sir? If you want to get ahold of him in the future while he's here…" And the kid goes on to give Vandenberg his own cell phone number.

Stewie hangs up the phone with an air of cockiness and nonchalance. Brian knows he is looking at the young man with an expression of stupefaction, but he just can't seem to wipe it from his features for several long moments. For the life of him, he can't, at first, in his startled state, begin to understand that Stewie's just bought him some more time, as well as shifted a lot of the burden of dealing with Vandenberg to his own shoulders, and the dog marvels at the kid's ability to think on his feet. Stewie really is the most crafty individual he's ever known.

His friend settles back onto the couch and pats Brian on the knee.

"What would you do without me?"

**BREAK!**

Brian's tie is bothering him tonight, and he can't stop pulling at it.

His discomfort is absurd and baffling; he's worn a collar on a daily basis for the vast majority of his life, so it's not like he's unused to neckwear. Even ties he's worn his fair share of, too. Toevents like this. Or fancy restaurants when he's tried to impress a date with both his choice of establishment and his dapperness. On the rare occasion when the family has twisted his arm into going to church with them. Perhaps it's the stifling atmosphere of this small, inadequately-dusted gallery crowded with people.

Or the stifling atmosphere surrounding one particular person. Amazing, Grant's ability to walk into a room and suck all the air from it.

He'd been having a really good time hanging out with Stewie at this art exhibit. It wasn't often in Quahog that one could find exquisite artwork and champagne that was on the house and _good_. What better environment than this quiet, refined, ascetically pleasing ambiance to let all his worries go for one night?

And then came the interloper.

Grant had surprised them after they'd been at the show for only about twenty minutes, and had made their way through a good half of the pieces. Someone called out their names, and upon turning around, they spotted Grant a fair distance down the hallway near the front door and waving enthusiastically. Stewie had immediately snatched a flute of champagne off the tray of a wandering server and gone prancing over to the new arrival to present him with the refreshment and a kiss on the cheek.

He brought Grant back over to where the dog stood in surprised displeasure, and as with the prior two times that Brian and Grant had met, Grant put out his hand.

"Brian, hi. It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Hey, Grant." He plasters a fake smile on his face as he pumps the man's hand up and down. Inside, he feels himself beginning to seethe, and tries to quell it. It's ridiculous that Grant showing up would provoke this kind of a reaction in him. He knows that, and yet he can't help but feel a bit irked. After all, this was supposed to be his and Stewie's night out, not his, Stewie's, and _Grant's_.

They pass works by Degas and Renoir, Sisley and Manet, and also several pieces by local artists. They'd been forced to start over, because Grant has yet to see what Brian and Stewie already have. They all move a bit more slowly now, Brian following behind the couple at a short distance. It is an excellent exhibit: and yet every piece seems strangely less sublime now that Grant is here. This is a highly irrational, but Brian fluctuates wildly between clinging with a sense of justification to feeling offended, and trying to shake off his dark mood. During one of the times that he's in a latter frame of mind, he takes a few quick strides forward and stands between the lovebirds.

"So…you're an art lover, huh, Grant?"

"No, I wouldn't say that," the man replies. "Art and I are good friends. Nothing more or less. How about you, Brian?"

Before Brian can answer for himself, Stewie swoops in to do the job for him.

"Oh, Grant, you'll come to find that, where the fine arts are concerned, Brian's into a little bit of everything," he says languidly, directing a small, not wholly affectionate smirk at the canine in question. "A dilettante if I ever knew one."

"Stewie's brother, Chris," Brian says loudly, brushing by the insult even as he bestows a withering look on the obnoxious little sod, "displayed in a couple of shows here: mostly the abstract and pop-art ones. This gallery was actually up for sale awhile ago, and he was thinking of buying it before his wife talked him out of it. She was pregnant with their first kid at the time."

"Stewie told me his brother was an artist," says Grant. "He's told me about all of his family. They sound like a colorful bunch." He grins widely, and all Brian can think at that moment is that Grant is making a massive moron out of himself, because 'colorful' doesn't even begin to describe the Griffins.

Grant claps a hand on Stewie's shoulder.

"I can't wait for the day when I get to meet them."

A look of surprise overtakes Stewie's face. "Yes…" he murmurs. He clears his throat and smiles slowly. "M- my…family. I can't wait to meet yours, too."

Grant pales.

Brian soon begins to feel like a third wheel as Stewie and Grant begin to converse almost entirely with each other only. They tipple their complimentary champagne and talk close together while strolling very near one another, their arms bumping familiarly, affectionately, their heads frequently bent together in discussion. Stewie seems to see all the art with fresh eyes now that Grant is here, and all Brian can't get over how rude it is that Grant expects them to stick by his side while he looks his fill of pieces that Brian and Stewie have already made their way through. In the meantime, the couple doesn't walk far enough in front of him, or talk so lowly to one another, that bits and pieces of the conversation don't float back to Brian almost continuously. Grant seems to be doing most of the talking. His praise for the various paintings and sculptures goes from ardent- if _quite_ pretentious, in Brian's opinion- to, near the end of the exhibit, glib and almost careless, evidently indicative of being in a bit of a rush to get out of there.

About an hour after Grant's initial arrival, they've done the completer tour. Grant yawns loudly and smiles at his boyfriend. He touches Stewie on the small of the back.

"I think it's time to call it a night, don't you?"

Stewie slips his hand into the back pocket of Grant's slacks.

"I suppose it is getting a bit late. C'mon, babe. I'll see you to your car."

Grant pulls away, displacing Stewie's hand.

"You…uh…you aren't going to come by my place?" he asks with a pout on his face.

"Well…I don't know…" says Stewie, so coquettish that Brian's astounded when the kid doesn't start batting his eyelashes and puckering his lips. "How bad do you want me?"

"_Bad_," says Grant in a voice so husky it's obscene and Stewie giggles ridiculously.

Brian coughs. As loud as he can. Causing Stewie's head to snap around, and the insolent little brat finally seems to remember his oldest friend's presence.

"Oh…I guess…you'll take my car?"

"That's quite handy, seeing as I need a way to get home," Brian says flatly, ire mounting.

To his slight credit, Stewie ducks his head with a look that is a trifle sheepish.

"Well, I'll just set you up with the keys to the crap mobile, then."

He presses the keys into Brian's paw, running a thumb along the edge of the dog's wrist as he does so.

"Thanks," the kid says.

Brian lets out a huff. It's a little too late for this kind of consideration from his friend who has, for the past hour, been acting like Brian is invisible.

"I might as well leave, too," sighs the canine, displeased that Stewie has apparently missed the periodic dark looks he's been throwing the kid, and the quiet, irritated noises he's been uttering off and on under his breath for the same space of time. "I think I've seen my fill of everything here…twice."

With that, the trio turns and walks swiftly back through the gallery to the foyer, with the intention of heading out.

The dog slows his steps and Stewie starts to pass him up, but Brian grabs his shirtsleeve and stops him just inside the door, while Grant walks on ahead, unnoticing.

"Did you tell him about this exhibit? Did you tell him we were going to be here?"

The kid looks startled.

"No. Why? Do you think it's a bad thing that he would show up?" Stewie tries to scrutinize his companion's face, but the dog is careful to avoid giving the inconsiderate little brat a clear view of it. If he didn't notice before how he was feeling before, what's the point in having him see it now?

"I regard it as a very positive thing that the three of us were able to hang out together," Stewie continues.

Brian's eyes scan the room, still at all costs avoiding meeting Stewie's. Why would Stewie want him to spend time with Grant? He and Brian are civil to each other, nothing more, and that's perfectly fine with Brian. But if the object was for them to get to know each other, well, Stewie would have to stop playing grab ass with Grant first.

Brian sees Grant turn around, sees his look of surprise when he realizes that Stewie and Brian aren't there. The man's gaze searches for his missing companions until it finally finds the two on the opposite side of the gallery's threshold. A look of slight confusion crosses his features, but he stands waiting patiently for them to catch up. Brian scoffs and stammers through an affronted remark.

"That's …y-yeah, but- you told me the other night that it was going to be, ya know, you and me at this exhibit tonight. You'd, like…dismissed the idea of inviting Grant." _God, what the hell is my problem? _He feels suddenly embarrassed as hell, and also angry with himself, and then _that_ puzzles him, as too. He's feeling too many things at once, and he finds himself to also be rather fidgety and wanting to run in a dozen different directions at a time. Deciding to focus on just one emotion and one pose, he chooses crossing his arms and feeling bitter.

Stewie's mouth falls open a little bit, then he quirks a small, puzzled grin at his canine companion.

"So? I _didn't _invite him." He looks like he wants to say more, but is apparently at a loss for words, so he merely repeats, "So?"

So nothing.

**BREAK!**

Brian is sitting at the computer desk in his room, _writing_, incredible as that is.

It has been two weeks since the day he and Stewie had gone to that art exhibit. Despite hanging onto to a grudge against the boy for his behavior during that event for the better part of the next day, he'd eventually let his resentful mood toward the kid expire. What Stewie had done was a mere trifle in the larger scheme of things. He had, lately, been spending most of his time with Grant, which was annoying, but Brian dealt with it. On the handful of occasions when Brian and Stewie _did_ hang out, the dog would inquire in some slight way- not wanting to rush Stewie, and also afraid of what he might hear- after the efforts the kids had been making to solve the whole Caleb problem. The kid would just smile mysteriously, but the glimmer in his eye let Brian know that he was working on something and was optimistic about it. And so even though Brian passed most of his days feeling quite _extremely _bored, at least he had hopes that his regular old life would come back to him someday…that it would at least have the chance to. There were still moments of intense, almost paralyzing worry about the whole situation with Caleb coming home to roost, but Stewie had always been so skilled at accomplishing the impossible, and with this knowledge in mind, he's dared let himself believe that despite the odds he'd spent so long believing were stacked against him, despite what some of his common sense still said, things might just turn out fine, after all.

He'd been unable to sleep last night, but it wasn't because he was stressed out, but because he was inspired. And he's now been writing off and on since just before midnight of that previous night, stopping only for a few bathroom breaks and to eat breakfast and grab a shower. Okay, and fine, yes, to play _one _game of Tetris on the computer and watch _one_ rerun of _Classholes_ that he'd been amazed to come across while he was flipping through channels…which he'd only intended to do for a minute, but hey, he was entitled to take a breather after so much hard work, right?

Around eleven in the morning, Stewie calls his cell.

"Breaking news. I'll tell you what is when we meet for lunch. Oh, by the way, we're meeting for lunch. Be at the firm by 1 o'clock, ok?"

Damn it, what the hell's wrong with that kid? Why does he always expect people to drop everything and jump up to accommodate _his_ wishes like this?

The answer, he reflects presently, should be obvious: by making it impossible that they should not.

A couple hours later, and Brian is asking his friend, "Stewie, what's this breaking news you mentioned?"

"I'll tell you once we get to the place and sit down," is Stewie's reply, much to Brian's chagrin, though he grudgingly goes along with the plan. They have just left the law firm and are traveling down the block to have lunch at the deli that Cleveland Brown used to own decades ago before he left Rhode Island.

They reach their destination and make their way inside, each placing their order for a sandwich and soda at the counter before choosing a table near the back of the deli.

Their eyes lock with one another's as they settle into their seats across from each other, and a silent agreement is formed that they will not begin discussing what is that brought them here until the food arrives. Fortunately, it only takes around ten minutes for their lunch to be delivered to their table.

"The breaking news, Brian," Stewie says, leaning forward and stretching his hands out on the table in front of him, hands clasped together. "Is that I've hired a private investigator to track down that sack of crap, Caleb. And guess what? My guy may have found him."

Brian tenses, totally caught off guard.

"He- he found him?"

"_May_ have," Stewie clarifies, gently yet firmly, as though not desirous of putting too much of a damper on the reassurance that is evidently supposed to be inherent in the idea of Caleb being found, and yet not wanting to raise the dog's hopes too high.

Brian sits quite still in his seat as he processes what he's been told. He quickly finds, after he's let the news sink in, that he isn't exactly made happy by it, and why should he be?

"But…is that such a good thing?" he muses aloud to himself, his mind going a mile a minute.

"Well," Stewie sniffs. "I should think so. Good grief, I've gone to all this trouble, Bri, and what a fine way to show your gratitude to me."

"But Stewie," Brian says, the primary emotion he is feeling quickly becoming despair now that the surprise at hearing of Caleb's whereabouts possibly being discovered is wearing off, "what's to be done after he's found? I don't see how I can turn him into the police without dooming myself, too."

"Well…" Stewie drawls. "I could always _settle_ the thieving bastard." He draws a finger significantly across his throat. "And then it would simply be a matter of dumping the corpse and getting hold of enough of his cash and other assets to compensate you and your magazine for your losses."

"You work on the other side of the law, now," Brian reminds him, unsure whether he is troubled or not by Stewie's murderous suggestion. "The good side."

Stewie chuckles heartily and wiggles his brows at him.

"Hey, man, the beast may be in hibernation, but it can always be woken up. And I can stay a good guy as long I don't get found out."

"All the same, I'd prefer you came up with an alternative plan. What that can possibly be, though, since we've ruled out contacting the police, I have no clue."

"Trust me, Brian. Whatever way you slice it or dice it, finding Caleb is a good thing. It's the first step no matter what course of action we determine should be taken. There will be some way to see that justice is done, mark my words. We just need to bide our time. For starters, we don't even know for certain if it _is_ him. So until we know more, let's just try to turn our minds away from this whole damnably unpleasant affair."

Changing topics seems almost unthinkable, but it's only reasonable. No more progress can be made at this point. They'll talk some more about this and all its dozens of implications later, whenever the next update comes in. In the meantime, however, he had better start relaxing for the sake of his sanity. He trusts Stewie…well, in regard to this, at least, he does. And the other thing that he'd come back home to do, in addition to soliciting the kid's help, was to return to his old life and be allowed to comfort himself by pretending everything is normal. He hasn't done quite enough of that so far, bar a few fun but too brief outings with Stewie. Such as that art exhibit a couple weeks ago, when Stewie's boyfriend had to be a dick and insert himself into their company, turning a friends' night out into a lovers' night out.

Speaking of…He thought it only polite to inquire…

"How're things going with Grant?"

"Very well," says Stewie, nodding along as he takes a bite off his sandwich. He chews, swallows, then pops the toothpick out of the center of the sub, and begins to pick between his two front teeth. It's not very Stewie-esque behavior, and Brian is convinced that he does it just so he can have a good prop to call attention to the way that he then breaks out into an animalistic smile, "There's a bit of a learning curve in the bedroom. I've got considerably more experience than him, but I don't hold it against the poor fellow, of course." His eyes gleam with lasciviousness. "He's a delightful pupil to have."

Brian wipes his mouth with a napkin to hide his frown. He wishes Stewie didn't have to make everything about sex. Then he recalls that he'd wanted to work on being less squeamish about Stewie and Grant's relationship. He reminds himself that if this were one of his heterosexual friends talking about how much they liked to bang whoever they were with at the time, he'd have no problem with such talk, so tries to make himself be lighthearted in this situation, too.

"It's so…bizarre," he says with a laugh, "to think of you in a relationship that's actually _working_."

"I don't find it _bizarre_ at all," sniffs Stewie indignantly. He frowns across at the dog. "Nor the least bit humorous."

Brian chuckles all the more at his friend's sour expression. It's been all too long since they've been able to take these playful jabs at each other's personal lives.

"That's because you can't laugh at yourself."

The kid lets out a chortle so loud that half the other patrons of the deli turn to stare at their table.

"_Me_?"

Brian nods emphatically, while Stewie soberly shakes his head in disagreement.

"Among the reasons why it's unfortunate you never found your true love," Stewie intones in a sermonizing voice, "the least of which is not the fact that I am positive you would feel less of a need to prove yourself if you had a special someone. You would be ambitious for the right reasons and get yourself into a hell of a lot fewer scrapes. You need a wife to manage you. It is your tragedy that there are precious who are up to the task- they just get fed up with your douche-ery. But if only you were able to find the person who loved you enough to accept all of you and help you to see yourself more clearly…it would be the making of you."

Brian's brow furrows. He doesn't especially like being talked to this way by Stewie.

"But- wait. We were talking about you, not me."

Stewie smiles an ostensibly sweet smile, but as familiar as he is with the boy, Brian can easily discern the barbs around the edges.

"But why talk about _me_? I feel guilty bragging about the perfection that is _my_ life."

Brian merely rolls his eyes.

The silence following this exchange stretches on for at least the next ten minutes. It's not an uncomfortable one, though. There is much to be said for sharing a meal with someone whom you've shared lots of meals with before. Throughout the course of the many, many years they've known each other, there have been countless silent breakfasts, brunches, lunches, snack times, dinners…and not born out of hostility as happens between some family member. (The hostility that infrequently presents itself between them usually does so at other events). Brian finds that he is all too happy to just sit in silence with the kid as a means of enjoying one another's company.

"Guess what? I'm moving out in a few days."

Brian looks up at the boy, startled.

"Wow. That's kinda fast."

Stewie nods his head, conceding the dog's point, but says, "It's the right time, though. By which I mean, now that I've got enough for my first and last month's rent, why would I want to stay at home for any longer than I have to?"

Brian shrugs, unable to come up with any reason. Any reason that it wouldn't be unthinkable to voice, anyway. He won't attempt to talk Stewie out of it just for his sake. That would be weird.

Good _god_, does he genuinely feel like he can't live in the Griffins' house anymore unless Stewie is there, too? That thought staggers and agitates him. No, no, of course that is not the case. It's simply that he doesn't _want_ to. Which is far more normal. Still, he'd _really _prefer to be living under the same roof as Stewie right now, so how to make that happen? It comes to him in a flash of semi-brilliant inspiration and pretty soon he is very spontaneously stating it. A way that Stewie can move out and Brian won't be left feeling lonely and with no one around whom he can discuss Seattle and Caleb with.

"I want to move in with you."

Stewie cocks his head at him. "Huh?"

"Well, listen, things are getting kind of crazy at your folks' house right now. Lois and Meg are at each other's throats and if that tension wasn't enough to fuck up the atmosphere, things are kind of strained with myself and Lois as well, since she answered the phone that one time and it was Mr. Vandenberg. I'm pretty sure she's convinced I'm hiding something. I would rather not have her get wind of anything else, or have to tiptoe around her when I want to consult with you- which would be done more easily if we were living together, anyway. I'm not totally broke; I still have some money in my savings account. I was going to start looking for a job soon, anyway, and if you tell me that I can move in, I'll start that search right away. And at this point, I'm not above taking whatever's offered to me. So…I would like to apply to be your roommate," he concludes with a semi-sheepish smile, before adding humbly, "I mean, unless you have somebody else in mind. Grant-"

"Let me stop you right there," laughs Stewie, eyes dancing, putting up a palm to hold back Brian's words. The dog starts to frown, imagining the kid intends by this gesture and by cutting him off to turn him down. "No. We're _so_ not there yet. But…now this is a bit delicate, but have your really considered all that you might be in for? Are you fine with my boyfriend coming around, and spending some nights over?"

"Oh…yeah, sure," Brian mutters, and then doesn't know why he said it at all, because now that Stewie's brought it up, all he can envision is living in a place where he can't turn the corner without finding Stewie canoodling with Grant, or overhearing their bedroom activities, and he can conceive of few things he'd relish less. "I mean, when I was in LA all those years ago staying with Jasper and Ricardo, they certainly didn't refrain from, uh…doing their thing merely because I was just down the hall." Why the hell is he trying to make it sound like he's okay with living with a couple of newly-dating dudes who are going to be all over each other all over the apartment?

As soon as he catches himself once again having thoughts that his politically-correct mind perceives to be possibly homophobic, he decides that he should probably get over seeing Stewie show affection for his male significant other. While Brian mulls this all over, while accepting the fact that, should he move in with Stewie, there may be no avoiding the visual trauma, he suddenly gets an idea about how to at least circumvent the auditory kind and perks up slightly.

"I just wore earplugs."

Stewie chuckles. "You'd better buy some damn top quality, ones, man. I'm a screamer, and I encourage vocality in my partners, as well."

Brian hates his life. It may not be definitely condemned to serious jail time and utter and irrecoverable loss of reputation as previously feared, but it is still as travesty all the way around.

"Thanks for the advance warning," he grumbles. He is starting to rethink this again. "Listen, Stewie, maybe I spoke too hastily. Maybe I really shouldn't be, uh, coming to live in your first grown-up apartment and intruding on your turf-"

Stewie throws back his head and laughs. He reaches over and taps the dog on the arm playfully. "Oh, nonsense! You had it right the first time!" He laughs some more and bats his hand in the air jovially. "This is going to be _such_ fun! _Roomie_."

**BREAK!**

_The graveyard again._

_Once more, he lies on the grave of his father. Once more, he hears howling and rockets to his feet._

_It takes him a moment or two to realize that it's not a wolf's howling, but that of the wind. Almost as soon as he has this realization, he feels the sting of it on his cheek, feels it ruffle his fur. It doesn't begin gentle, and it quickly whips up into a formidable force, and fairly chilly to boot. He stands there shivering in it, putting his arms up over his face, and digging in his heels to stay upright. The wind is loud in his ears to the point that is like the inside of his head is a wind tunnel. It slowly becomes less and less noisy, but as it does so, it becomes more and more apparent that another sound is bleeding into it. As to what this second sound it…this time it's unmistakable. _

_Instinctively, he starts to run, and run hard. He is so zealous in his task that before he knows it, he has left the rows of gravestones behind. He is now in a flat, expansive pasture of some kind. He keeps running for a little while, still not knowing whether or not he is safe, but suddenly the decision of whether or not to stop is made for him when with an abrupt smack, his body hits the ground. The wind is so strong that at first he think it had blown him over, but a glance over his shoulder and he sees that he had tripped over a root sticking up out of the ground. He tries to pull himself to his feet, but there is suddenly, somehow not a painful, but still an overwhelming pressure on his shoulders. Sharp fear spikes through him, and what makes it worse is that as he looks wildly around, he sees that there are no hands on his shoulders, and yet he is still being forced down._

_He lies flat on his back and attempts to sit up, but it proves impossible. _

_And all at once he is plunged into blackness. He can't see a thing anywhere around him; all is dark, devoid of even a scrap of light. And someone or something is breathing on his lower stomach. It takes a moment for him to be sure of it, on account of the way the wind was raging before. After that moment, however, it strikes him quite definitively that the sensation is not being made by the wind, but by a mouth. And it is now blowing-quite warm air- on his groin. Which tightens a bit, all the while his mind is in a tumult of confusion. He knows this is a dream. Since he knows this, he shouldn't be afraid, and yet he is. Even though this is absolutely a dream, which can the only thing that accounts for the fact that, in horrible situation, he is able to also become aroused. And when that breath that loiters torturously over the part of him that has become so stiff that it has escaped its sheath actually descends to _touch_ it…suddenly this is a wonderful dream. _

_Brian gasps loudly at the heavenly feeling of a pair of lips slipping around his cockhead. They slide down almost all the way, and Brian feels himself go slack-jawed with pleasure while this unknown individual goes on, with outstanding enthusiasm and tenderness, to make love to his member._

_How he can be aware of anything but the marvelous suction going on in that hot, wet cavern that also houses a very talented and dexterous tongue is an inexplicable mystery, but he suddenly becomes aware that he's no longer being held down. Although he remains enclosed in impenetrable blackness, maybe, if he feels around, by touching his mystery lover's face, he can discern her identity from what the facial features feel like under his fingers. Sitting all the way up, arms outstretched, he reaches them down, and tangles in his fingers in soft, thick hair. A second later, he's bereft with disappointment, groaning unhappily as the individual who had been giving him such intense pleasure removes their mouth from his organ and begins to move their head up. As the person raises their head, Brian's suddenly cupping the sides of somebody's face, and if the distance that his hands are apart as each cradle a cheek didn't tell him, well, it is at that moment that the lighting in the field returns to normal and he can see again. _

_He is looking at Stewie's face._

_To be continued…_


End file.
